The Wind Will Guide Me
by Yva J
Summary: Vincent and Catherine meet Missy Parks, a 12 year old poet who not only becomes their friend, but who must also face a virtual two edged sword with regards to her creative gift.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: I wrote this story several years ago but never really posted it anywhere, so I thought I'd post it here. I hope that you enjoy reading it, it is a long and involved, but since the story is five years old, I don't know how well I did then on editing it, but I did try to keep all the errors out of it, as well as keep everyone in character. _

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This is from the Vincent / Catherine universe. It's not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and I hope that you will enjoy reading it. Although it is not my first, 'Beauty and the Beast' fan fiction, it is the first one I have the courage to post. ;)_

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**The Wind Will Guide Me**

A _Beauty and the Beast_ story

By: Yva J.

**Part 1**

**Chapter 1**

"I will sing sweet music to you, as you watch over me with love," Missy read aloud as she stood before her 6 grade class. "I will be a sweet reminder to you in the melodies of a song. I will awake in the morning when your soothing voice whispers. And I will never forget that your wind will guide me through the day."

"That's the lamest bunch of garbage I ever heard," one boy said from the back of the room. "Who says stuff like that anyway?"

Missy sighed deeply as she looked helplessly at the teacher who had been listening. When the teacher nodded but said nothing, she took it as a negative sign and slowly made her way back to her desk. I'm a failure; she thought to herself, my stories and poetry don't hold any meaning to anyone.

"You're right, Tommy, it sounds like junk from Shakespeare," a girl spoke up, and Missy recognized her voice immediately. It was Suzy, one of the snobbiest girls in the class. She yawned obnoxiously as the rest of the class dissolved in twitters of laughter.

Missy looked around the room, and when the bell rang, she sighed with relief. Though English was her favorite class, she was glad that it was finally over. She stood up and grabbed her books, sadness enveloping her. This wasn't the kind of reaction she had expected, nor was it one she had hoped for. She had always taken a great deal of pride in her poetry, and somehow, she wondered if there was anyone in this world who would appreciate the words and emotions she wrote so carefully about.

As she made her way down the hall towards the doors that would lead into a large auditorium, she sighed. This assembly was a far cry better than the humiliation of dressing out for gym class. She had never been very athletic, perhaps such talent had only been passed on to her brothers. All she knew was that she was about as athletic as a slug in a pool of salt water.

Oh well, what did it matter anyway? It was the last hour of the day, time for some sort of presentation on career goals. What did this mean to her anyway; she was only twelve, so why did the counselors think that this kind of thing would be beneficial to a room full of rowdy pre-teens? It could be worse; she thought to herself, I could be suffering through another round of kickball with Suzy and her snobby friends.

She entered the large auditorium and could see a number of kids already seated in the cinema style seats. She approached them and sat down in the front row alone, but somewhat separated from the rest of the kids who were already assembled.

She could see the vice principal as well as various counselors seated on the stage. Off to one side, she could see three men and two women she had never met before and concluded that they were the presenters.

Behind her, she could hear three girls coming to take seats behind her. They were whispering, but loudly enough that she could hear their words. "Hey look, it's 'Missy the sissy'. You should have heard those lame poems she recited today in class. Who reads that stuff anyway? Poetry is for the birds." She turned around and could see that Suzy had sat down directly behind her, and it looked as though the other girl had every intention of humiliating Missy in front of the other kids.

She turned back around and covered her face with her hands. Through her fingers, she could see the notebook she always carried. Perhaps Suzy was right, no one in the 6th grade read Shakespeare, most of them couldn't even read it, let alone understand it. Her poetry was definitely inspired by his sonnets, but to not receive any sort of encouragement by her teachers or acceptance by her peers, made her feel even more isolated and alone. It was really no wonder she found so much security in her writing. Trying to make friends in this school seemed to be about as likely as her becoming head cheerleader.

By this time, the girls behind her had quieted down and the assembly had started. Missy remained huddled over her poetry notebook until the first of the presenters was introduced. When she looked back up, she could see one of the women on stage looking directly at her. The soft sensitive eyes of the woman gave Missy a small sense of comfort, but after some seconds passed, she looked back down at the notebook that rested in her lap. She opened it to the next blank page and began to write.

The assembly progressed, and Missy found herself getting so involved in her writing that she was no longer paying attention to the presenters. By the end of the assembly, she had composed a twenty-four-line poem. As the other kids were getting up to go catch their busses to go home, she looked down at the words she had written, her eyes filling with tears as she read the words spread across the page.

Will I ever find in the stars and sunshine?

A friend who understands the beauty in my words 

The love in a verse, and the emotion of a sonnet

Will I ever know what it feels to be accepted 

For the beauty that is within me?

She looked down at the words in the first stanza of the poem. As she did, a feeling of bitterness overwhelmed her and she wadded up the piece of paper and tossed it to the ground. Closing the notebook, she stood up, and turned around, the auditorium was now practically empty. The other kids had left and she was now alone.

Missy made her way back up the aisle towards the door. She refused to look back to the stage; thus failing to notice that the woman who had been looking at her had come down the steps and had retrieve the wadded sheet of paper Missy had thrown on the floor.

The woman unfolded the paper, and as she looked down at the words neatly written on it, a sense of complete understanding overcame her and Catherine Chandler smiled. Missy Parks, she thought to herself, you will one day find that friend through your words, of that I am certain. She tucked the small piece of paper inside her pocket and reached for her briefcase.

---

Missy walked slowly through the streets of New York in the direction of the apartment where she lived with her father and three brothers, Travis, Matthew, and Justin. The three brothers had dropped out of school when they had turned 16 and went to work in the family dry cleaning business. The shop seemed to be opened every day, and if there was such a thing as living for one's work, her father and brothers did just that.

She did not necessarily have a bad time at home, her father and brothers were not unkind to her, but she also never saw them. She was often lonely, and perhaps it was all the time alone that got her into writing poetry some three years ago. Inside her prized notebook was over 200 poems and verses she had written, and her dream was to one day become a professional writer, though she would never admit this dream to anyone.

I wish I had a friend, she thought to herself as she walked. She decided that the best thing to do was to go to the park. There's no point in going back to the apartment where she lived, her brothers and father would not be home. Even if they were, they would not have time for her.

Central Park was usually relatively quiet, so maybe she could actually sit down beneath the shade of a large tree and write some poetry. As she got closer to the park, she realized that it had been a mistake to even go there. In the middle of a large open space was completely crowded, music was playing and it appeared as though a demonstration was taking place. The music grew louder in intensity forcing her to cover her ears and back away from the throng of people.

Sighing deeply once she was far enough away, she began to ask herself where she could possibly go for some solitude. New York City was anything but quiet, and even the local library seemed to have kids from her school inside, and she realized that there was no way she could even go in there without being hassled by them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a large drainpipe, and walked slowly towards it. It looked dark inside, but she concluded that maybe there would be enough light for her to sit inside the opening and write. She covered her ears once again when the music grew louder in an attempt to block out some of the echoes that were resonating around her. When she arrived at the entrance, she discovered that the pipe was much taller and wider than she had initially thought. She began to feel the moist, humid air wafting towards her as she came even closer to the opening.

For some reason, she suddenly began to feel nervous, and swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she entered the opening and walked towards the darker recesses of the tunnel. The echoes from the music outside grew louder and she realized that it was probably a mistake to even try to come here at all. The hollowness of the music as it resonated through the tunnel made the entire area seem rather eerie. As she walked, she discovered that although the music had finally started to fade, it sounded as though it was being played through a hollow tube.

The further into the tunnel she ventured, the fainter the music sounded, and eventually, all that she could hear were the sounds of water droplets falling from the ceiling.

Missy continued to follow the tunnel deeper in, her hands beginning to sweat as it grew darker and she could no longer see the light from where she had entered. What was really down here, she asked herself, but she found a poetic beauty in this place and continued as though she was in some sort of a trance. Seconds passed, and she abruptly stopped when she heard voices. She remained in the shadows and watched as the wall opposite her suddenly opened and two figures emerged.

She could hear their voices and realized that it was two boys coming out and she wondered who they were and why it was they were dressed in clothing that looked straight out of the Renaissance. For some reason, their appearance wasn't so strange to her, as she had always longed to wear such unusual clothing herself.

As she watched them coming closer, she remained hidden in the darkness and listened as they spoke to one another in a low sounding baritone. After hearing them speak, she guessed that they were both older than her by at least two or three years. She could not understand what they were saying, as they were speaking softly, but because they were not looking around she figured that they were unaware of her presence. Without even a nod in her direction, they rounded a corner and disappeared in the distance, all the while conversing.

The wall remained open even after they had disappeared, but in the wink of an eye, Missy could hear it beginning to close and without thinking, she rushed towards it, and was inside right as the large rock panel closed behind her.

The first thing she realized once the door had closed was the absence of light. It was an eerie kind of darkness, one that frightened her if she were to walk towards the faint light at the other end of the long corridor, but also one that gave her an extreme feeling of insecurity if she were to remain stationary. Through her own sense of reason, she concluded that she had pretty much no choice in the matter, she had to go to the light or she probably could not ever come out of this underground cavern again.

Without even considering the light, she wondered if it would even lead her away from this underground tunnel. The light did not seem to even come from outside. Instead, it flickered as though it was a single flame burning from a candle.

Missy recalled the two young men she had seen coming through the hollow wall, and then the candlelight. Have I stepped back in time, she asked herself? Will I ever be able to go back home? Do I even want to, or would living here behind the cold stone wall be preferable to going back to school and being called 'Missy the sissy' again?

She reached inside her backpack and pulled out her notebook. As she tried to make out the shape of the object in her hands, she was left only to rely on her sense of touch. She could feel the worn cover, but the recognition of this made her sad when she mulled over the fact that she had no real friends. The isolation had run its course with her, and she had no one she could really talk to. There was nothing worse than being 12 years old, and having no hope left.

Maybe it's all the better if I stay down here forever, then no one would miss me, she thought sadly as she could feel the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her dress as she continued to walk; her poetry in one hand, a pencil in the other, the backpack with her school books hung down from her shoulders and rested against her lower back.

After some moments of silence, she nearly jumped out of her skin when out of nowhere came the resonance of loud banging against the pipes. The sound grew from a dull moan to a very loud clang. She backed up against the wall of the tunnel, afraid that an inhabitant of the tunnels would confront her. With this in mind, her body began to tense up as the frightened tears continued to stream down her cheeks. To make matters worse, it was so dark she could barely see in front of herself, but when the banging abruptly stopped, she wiped her hand over her face rubbing the tears from her eyes. Once she had reoriented herself, she resumed walking in the direction of where the light had originated.

As she continued, she could feel something strange under her feet, and without warning, she felt a net of strong woven ropes coming up surrounding her body. At that instant, she felt her feet leaving the ground pulling her up in some kind of trap.

As she struggled against the ropes confining her, she dropped the notebook and pencil. Both objects slipped through the coils of rope and fell to the ground landing with a thud. She continued to struggle, although her resistances made the net begin to swing about like a punching bag. She pulled frantically on the coils, but none of them seemed willing to give way, and her hands were quickly becoming raw from the futile efforts she made in order to break free.

The net persistently swung violently back and forth, and she could feel herself getting nauseous from the constant motion. She looked down, trying to see between the coils of rope, but in the darkness, she could not see the pencil and poetry book on the ground below. She ceased her struggling and eventually the swinging did stop.

She closed her eyes and contemplated the predicament she was in. The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. Would whoever set this trap accept her reasons for being in there? Would they understand that she was simply a lonely girl who had entered these tunnels to find some solitude to write?

Her eyes filled with tears when she realized that the light she had seen in the distance had grown dimmer and disappeared leaving her alone in the eerie darkness. The tears continued stinging in her eyes as she attempted to get comfortable in the net. After some moments, overwhelmed with hopelessness, she covered her face with her hands, and began to weep bitterly, her sobs resonating further into the world below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 1**

**Chapter 2**

At that moment, Vincent was sitting in his chamber. He had been writing, but when he began to hear the sounds of a girl crying in the distance, he laid his pen down and glanced up from his work. Something about living in the tunnel world, the voices of the kids who lived there often would resonate through them making it seem as though they were close by rather than being far away.

He knew that someone was crying, and this disturbed him. Was it one of the children who lived there? Had she fallen down and cried over a skinned knee? Usually if someone in their world had fallen down, they would have stopped crying after some moments had passed, picked themselves up off the ground and dusted themselves off. The kids that lived in the tunnels were pretty tough and could usually handle the bumps and scars of growing up. Seeing as many had already lived through some pretty nightmarish situations, he could not understand why the sobs did not end after some moments, but rather continued. Obviously, this was not one of their children, he concluded, it was a girl, and she probably had somehow found the tunnels, but had lost her way.

He stood up, his writing forgotten as he stepped towards the entrance to his chamber. When he saw Mary coming through the tunnel towards him, he stepped out into the corridor, and went to meet her. Mary had probably heard the crying herself, he concluded, and was looking for someone who could go and find help for the lost child. Normally, they would have immediately gone to Father to ask what should be done. Father would then ask a Helper to go into the tunnel and show the girl how to get back home, but presently, Father was not there, and both Vincent and Mary knew this. The word going around was that he would not be back until later that evening.

"Vincent, can you hear it, too?" Mary asked once he was standing beside her.

"Yes, I think it's coming from the Central Park entrance, maybe Mouse caught someone sneaking around in the tunnels," he said.

"It can't be anything serious, it sounds like a little girl," Mary said. "The poor child must be so frightened."

Vincent nodded, "then someone must go to her. Do you know when Father is due back?"

"Not until later, but we can't wait for him to return, we have to figure out what to do now. That's why I was coming to your chamber. I thought maybe you could do something about this," Mary said. "If the child is caught in one of Mouse's booby traps, then I wouldn't have the strength to help get her down."

"I'll go then," Vincent said softly. He returned to his chamber and grabbed his cloak. He draped it over his shoulder and walked towards the entrance to the tunnels, which lead to the drainpipe that extended out into the park.

"Are you sure, you know Father's always warning us about strangers," Mary asked. "If he knew that you were going alone to get her, he'd hit the ceiling. I mean, you know as well as I, it is better that as few people as possible from up there know about us. There is a potential danger here."

"Perhaps everything you say is true, but as you pointed out, this is a child, Mary, and I cannot in good conscience leave her alone and afraid in the tunnels. Eventually, she would be discovered, and I think you know that it would be better if someone were to go to her as quickly as possible," Vincent answered assuredly and walked without a candle towards the tunnel where the weeping had originated.

Mary nodded as Vincent walked past her. "OK," she conceded, "but do be careful, Vincent."

"I will, don't worry," came his soft response as he took the hood on his cloak and covered his head with it.

He walked slowly through the tunnels and up the spiral staircase that led towards the wall that separated their underground world from the tunnel, which led to the large park in the middle of New York City. As he made his way, he could tell that he was going the right direction, as the weeping had grown louder.

When he reached the spot where Mouse's booby traps had started, he looked up and saw the silhouette of a child over his head. She was hanging overhead in the net, her face in her hands, her body shaking, and he could see that she was frightened.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly. "No one will harm you here, little one."

The girl seemed not to have heard his soothing words because she continued to weep. He went over to the rope that acted as the control for the net, which kept her hanging over his head and pulled on it causing it to start unwinding and beginning to lower her to the ground. As the girl began to feel this happening, she started to scream when she felt herself falling.

The net loosened and she tumbled down and landed securely in Vincent's arms. "It's OK, I've got you. I won't let you fall."

In response to his words, she threw her arms around him and held onto him burying her face in against his shoulder. He could not tell if she was crying out of relief or fear, but it did not matter, he wrapped his arms around her and held her. "It's OK, you're safe now. No one will harm you."

As soon as her crying had subsided, Vincent lowered her gently to the ground and once she was securely on her feet, he released his hold on her shoulders. She immediately dropped to her knees and began to grope the ground as though she was searching for something.

"What are you searching for, Child, maybe I can help you find it?" he offered.

She said nothing, only continued to search, all the while trying to get away from the voice of the man who was addressing her.

Vincent took a few steps backwards and when he stopped again, he could feel something on the tunnel floor under his feet. He reached down and picked up the object. It was a small notebook and he concluded that this was what the girl was looking for.

He looked up and could see that she was still groping around searching, and at this moment, she was crawling towards another of Mouse's traps. Luckily I can see much better in the dark than most people, he thought to himself, or else rather than a warning, I might be helping her out of another one of the traps.

"Wait," he said softly. "You're moving towards another trap. Come back over to me and I'll take you some place safe. I found your book, and everything will be OK. Just follow the sound of my voice."

The girl, obviously not wishing to be trapped again, followed Vincent's instructions and crawled closer to him. When she could feel the rough boots he wore on his feet, she remained on the ground and looked up at him. She could not see his face, though through the shadows, she could make out his silhouette as he towered above her. "W-who are you?"

"My name is Vincent," he said softly. "What is your name, Child?"

"M-Missy," she stammered.

"And what brings you to these tunnels?" he asked gently.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong, Vincent. Honest, I wasn't," she said softly, and he could detect a sort of waver in her speech and knew that she was still frightened.

"It's OK, Missy, you have nothing to be afraid of," he said gently.

"It's just that I was trying to get away from the music in the park," she said softly. "I wanted to find a quiet place to write."

Vincent nodded, "I understand. Down here it is rather quiet. But, how ever did you manage to get in here?"

"I was walking near the entrance of the large drainpipe in Central Park. I went in thinking that I could sit somewhere near the entrance and write. But, the music was too loud and I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate," she said.

"So, you went in deeper?" he asked.

"Yes Sir," she said weakly.

"No formalities, Missy, but do continue."

"When I got closer to the sliding wall, I could hear voices, and these two boys came out from behind it. I guess they didn't see me, so after they were gone, I came through the entrance and ended up in this tunnel," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I did anything wrong."

"No, you didn't," he repeated, "but if you are wanting to write, then perhaps I should take you to a place where you can."

"You're not angry with me? I thought I had done something wrong when I got trapped in that net," she began.

Vincent smiled, "no, the nets are rigged to keep unwanted guests out of our tunnels, but you're not unwanted," he said and she could detect a friendly sort of laughter in his voice. "Come with me, you'll be my guest while you are here."

"Thank you," she said softly as Vincent offered her his hand and helped her off the ground. Once she was on her feet, he led her back through the tunnel. When they reached the light at the other end of the corridor, Missy had to rub her eyes because the brightness caused them to hurt a little. Although the light was somewhat dim, it was better than the dark tunnel where she had been trapped.

They descended the staircase and when they reached Vincent's chamber, she turned around and finally got her first real glimpse of him. He was tall and she had to strain her neck to see his face, but when she did, she backed away from him. He had the appearance of a lion, but stood upright like a man, and seemed to possess immeasurable strength. "I--," she wanted to scream, but it got caught in her throat, and she swallowed trying to keep her fear at bay. She wrung her hands together in order to calm herself down.

Her nervous movements did not go undetected by him, but instead of addressing her fear immediately, he pulled a chair for her, and backed slowly away from it, trying to appear as serene as he possibly could. "Please sit down, Missy."

"W-who are you?" she whispered sitting in the chair, which he offered. The last thing she wanted to do was to antagonize him, and she couldn't imagine what he might do to her if she were to refuse. Somehow, she had the strange sensation that it would anger him if she showed him just how terrified she was.

"I'm the same person who freed you from the net, and spoke with you in the tunnel," Vincent said softly. "Although, I promised you that no one would harm you here, I have a feeling that you are now frightened of me simply because of how I appear. Are you so afraid of me?"

Missy nodded slowly, but after a few moments of hesitation, she stopped as she remembered the soft and soothing voice she had heard back in the tunnel and how it seemed to match the voice of the person now addressing her. Eventually, she shook her head.

"Yes or no?" Vincent asked gently. "I assure you, Missy, I would do nothing to hurt you."

"N-no," she whispered but he could see her body was trembling violently and he knew that she was speaking an untruth.

Rather than continue with this line of questioning, Vincent looked down at the book she had searched for in the tunnel. He still held it in his hand. "May I read something from your book?" he asked trying to change the subject.

Missy, not knowing what to say, shook her head.

"As you wish," Vincent said softly, and placed the book gently on the table.

When she looked up at him, she could tell that he was somewhat saddened by her answer. After a few moments of silence passed, she finally found her voice and spoke. "W-would you really want to read something I wrote? I mean it is probably not all that great. Some of it I wrote when I was nine."

"You are your own worst critic," Vincent said gently. "You may not see much in your work, but the impact it has on others may hold more significance than you can even imagine."

"I don't believe that," she whispered more to herself than to him.

"It is true, Missy. For this reason, I would very much like to read something you have written, but only if you were to allow it," he said.

"You mean, I would have to say whether or not you can before you would?" she asked.

"That's right, but you must always keep in mind, you are far more critical of your own work than you are of that of others."

She reached over and grabbed the book from off the table. "I tried reading something out of here in class today and the other kids laughed and called it garbage." She hugged the notebook tightly against her chest.

"And I must now conclude that you are afraid to show it because of the cruel words of others?" He asked.

She nodded numbly feeling herself relaxing somewhat in his presence.

Vincent stood up and walked over to where she was sitting. He got down on his knees and rested his hand on her shoulder; she shrank back in terror. "You have nothing to fear," he whispered and she relaxed somewhat. "I would never do anything like that to you." He stood up, took her hands in his, and pulled her gently to her feet. He led her out of his chamber and into Father's library. "Look around this chamber, Missy, here you will find books filled with stories and poetry of all kinds. Reading is one of my joys in life, and I must tell you that if any one of these authors you see on the shelf had refused to write their works, then there would be one less book in this chamber."

Missy approached the shelf and began to read the titles on the spines of the books. After a minute of studying them, she turned back around, a book of Shakespeare's sonnets in her hand. "But these are all great writers," she objected returning the book to it's place on the shelf. With her index finger she pointed out authors as she read their names aloud. "Shakespeare, Wordsworth, even Robert Frost is here." She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she turned back around. "Who would want to read the works of Melissa Parks?"

"I would," Vincent said gently. "May I?"

This time Missy nodded. She walked over to him and handed him the notebook. Vincent opened it and began to read.

_I will remember you even when time has an end,_

_I will understand the meaning of your heart's song,_

_I will stand by you though the days may be long and hard,_

_I will enfold you with my kindness and comfort you in sadness,_

_I will sing sweet music to you, as you watch over me with love,_

_I will be a sweet reminder to you in the melodies of a song,_

_I will awake in the morning when your soothing voice whispers,_

_And I will never forget that your wind will guide me through the day._

He closed the book and looked at her, "you have a talent, Missy, a wonderful gift with words."

She shook her head not sure she wanted to believe him.

"Why do you not believe that?" he asked when he could see the insecurity in her eyes. Without waiting for an answer, he asked his next question. "Is this the verse you read to your class?"

She nodded.

"Then I feel sadness for those who were so simple-minded that they could not understand your images," he said as he handed the book back to her. "I could understand everything you wrote here, and I think the poem is beautiful."

She looked at him warily. "I guess I always thought that someone like you would not see poetry in this way. I figured simply that you could just do whatever you wanted when you wanted. I mean if I looked like you, I would..." her voice trailed and she blushed slightly unable to finish what she had started to say.

Vincent smiled, "you would what?"

"I just mean," she began to stammer, but found herself looking down at her feet.

"Speak without fear, Missy, you will not anger me with your honesty," he said gently.

"I--I just mean that if I were like you, I would be able to do as I pleased," she whispered.

"I don't believe you would," Vincent said softly leading her back into his chamber and over to the chair she had occupied before going into Father's library. Once she sat down, he continued. "Do you believe that I am capable of doing whatever it is I want?"

Missy looked down at her lap and shrugged her shoulders, but after some moments passed, she nodded.

Vincent chuckled softly and looked at her closely. "I cannot, Missy. I may make you afraid when you look at me, but the fact is, I wouldn't wish to do anything that would bring you harm."

"You wouldn't?" She asked, but in the back of her mind, she remembered his voice when he had read the poem she had written. His voice had been like a melody in a song, so filled with kindness and depth. Closing her eyes, she heard his simple one word answer.

"No."

She looked down at the small book she held, then back up at him. "I guess I always believed that tough people like you had it made."

"You view me as being tough?"

She nodded and could feel moistness in her eyes.

"Why do you cry?" he asked noticing the tears.

"They call me 'Missy the sissy' in school."

"For what reason?"

"I don't know, I guess because I write poetry and think Shakespeare's writing is wonderful," she looked down at her lap. "I suppose they say that because even though I am in junior high I still like and understand something most kids my age cannot."

"The beauty of poetry," he said simply.

She nodded numbly.

"What are they teaching you in school?" Vincent asked.

She looked back up at him, "I don't know, sometimes it feels like I go to a modeling agency instead of a school. I make good grades, but the classes are easy, and the teachers let the popular kids get away with everything. I guess deep down inside, I always wanted to be cool like them. I wanted to have people respect and like me, not for what I have, but for who I am."

"The right ones will, Missy," Vincent said gently.

"Perhaps, but when?"

"The time will come, and you will know it, because that respect and admiration will be real, and not based on external wealth," he said.

"You remind me of someone I once read about," she said. "You have a wisdom that I cannot explain, but even that doesn't change how things are now. The only way for me to even begin to make something of myself is to wear the trendiest clothes and act like the others. I don't resent that I don't have or do those things, because I know in part it's about money, or prestige," she paused taking a deep breath before continuing. "The truth is; my family can't afford to buy me such expensive clothing and I would never even think of asking my father for such things. I don't really know if he would do it anyway, but I think if he could, he would." She shrugged her shoulders, "even then, I don't know if I would wear them. I don't want to be a clone, I want to be me, and people should just accept that. It makes me sad that they are always so superficial and judge me by what I wear, not for the person I am."

"You mentioned your father, what does he do?"

"He and my brothers run a dry-cleaning business. I figure that because I am a part of the family, that I will be expected to drop out of school when I turn 16 and go to work just like my brothers did," she said softly.

"What is it you want to do?"

"I never told anyone before, but my dream is to be a professional writer," Missy said softly. "I have always wanted to publish a book of poetry," she said looking down at her notebook. "I've written over 200 poems and just started writing stories, but my father says I'm just a kid, and don't know what it is I want in life yet."

"Is your family really so focused on their work?" Vincent asked.

"In a way, but I don't blame them. My grandfather started the business 30 years ago, and then after he died my father inherited it when I was seven. Now all these larger stores are opening up and my father has become fearful that our store will be closed down. He doesn't know that I know this, but I overheard him talking to someone on the phone about it." She looked at Vincent earnestly, "if we loose the business, it will ruin us. Even if I wanted to go to college when I'm 18, I wouldn't be able to, because without the store, my dad wouldn't have any means to pay for my education."

"You have a very mature attitude about all of this," Vincent said. "How old are you?"

"12."

"So it's just you, your father, and brothers?"

"Yeah, my mom died some years ago. I don't remember much about her except that she would wear rose scented perfumes, and would hug us a lot," she shrugged her shoulders again. "Other than that, I don't remember much, I guess because I was only five when she died."

"I never knew my mother," Vincent said softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Funny, I used to think that it might have been easier to not have known her, but then I realized maybe two years ago that it was actually good that I did."

When she saw sadness in the eyes of the man seated across the table from her, she looked up at him, her hazel eyes meeting his soft blue ones. "Vincent, do you ever feel lonely? I mean like no one in the world could possibly understand you?"

"Sometimes," he answered honestly.

"I do all the time, and I hate it. Being alone is fine, but lonely is the most horrible feeling in the world." She looked around his chamber and then back at him. She wiped her hand over her eyes brushing the tears away. "No one seems interested in getting to know me, or wanting to be my friend," a pause. "My mom used to tell me that I was special, and I used to believe it, but anymore, I don't because if I was, then I would be able to find a friend simply by being one. No one has ever really given me the chance." As she spoke, the tears began to stream down her face once more, and she wrung her hands together nervously.

"I'll give you the chance," Vincent said gently standing up and going over to her. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, but as he looked down at her, he spoke, his voice soft. "Please, you mustn't believe for a moment that you're not special. Your mother was right, Missy, you are special, you have an impact on others and if you believe in yourself, you will see that beauty which exists in your heart. This I am certain of, as it is demonstrated in your beautiful poetry."

"You mean that?" she asked uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course I mean it, it's the truth," he said softly.

"I have to admit something," she began. "When you asked me earlier if I was afraid, I lied when I said 'no'."

"I know, I could tell by the way you had trembled," came his honest answer. "Your body language said more than your words could."

"And you still wanted to talk to me, but, why?"

"Aside from the fact that you needed to talk, it was the only way I know to help you overcome being afraid," he said. "Tell me, are you still afraid?"

"No," she looked at him and smiled weakly.

"Then what I tried was successful," he smiled. "But, there is something I must ask of you, and I hope that as my friend you will understand and respect it without question," Vincent began, his voice serious.

"I'll do whatever you wish," she said.

"Please don't tell anyone about me or this place. This request is very important."

She nodded, "I promise I won't tell a soul, but will I be able to see you again? Somehow I think once I go back home, I won't."

"You will," he said gently, "but you must wait before coming back. I have a friend who will make contact with you and through her, you will be able to see me again."

"You won't forget?"

Vincent smiled, "no, Missy, I won't." At that moment, both of them heard a woman calling Vincent's name and Missy froze. "Don't worry, it's Mary, she's coming by to see if you are OK, she had heard you crying in the tunnel earlier and was concerned for you."

As he spoke, she nodded and looked up to see a kind older woman coming inside the chamber. "Vincent, Father sent Pascal back to let you know that he will be returning sometime later this evening."

"Is there anymore news?"

"No," Mary said and turned to Missy. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. My name is Mary."

Missy smiled, but before she could speak, Vincent had already introduced her.

"This is Missy."

"Welcome," Mary said, but when she looked at Vincent, the fear in her eyes was evident. She refused to embarrass Vincent or frighten Missy, but as she walked towards the entrance to the chamber she shook her head slightly hoping that Vincent would understand her silent communication. When she turned back around, she could hear Missy's voice emerging as the shy young girl thanked her.

"Mary, could you bring us some tea?" Vincent asked. "Afterwards, it will be getting dark and we must send Missy home."

Mary nodded and went off to fulfill his request.

Once Mary was gone, Missy opened the notebook and looked down at the poem Vincent had read. After some seconds passed, she gently tore the page out of the book and folded the sheet of paper in half.

"I remember who it was you remind me of," she stood up and walked out of the chamber and into the library once again. Standing at the bookshelf, she pulled one of the books down. "It was from my childhood, a book my mother used to read us."

"What book was that?" Vincent asked.

Missy opened the book and inside was a golden lion, and a stone table. "Aslan, from The Chronicles of Narnia."

"But, I'm not Aslan, Missy, this is a fictitious character," Vincent objected. "C. S. Lewis was an incredible fantasy writer. Much of what he wrote consisted of symbolism and imagery."

"I know that you are not this character, but I think I make this sort of connection maybe from your appearance, but mostly from your kindness and understanding," she smiled shyly as she returned the book to the shelf. She walked out of the library and came back over to the table. Once Vincent had followed and they were both sitting at the table, she picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. "I want you to have this." She handed the poem to him. "If for no other reason but that you will always remember me."

"Missy, I will always remember you, you must not give me this to make me remember you, for that is a certainty. If you still wish to give it to me, I am touched, but are you certain that that is what you wish to do?"

"You're the only friend I have, and I always knew that if I found a friend..." her voice trailed and she wiped her hand over her eyes, but the persistent tears continued to stream down her cheeks. Moments later, she allowed herself to look up and her tearstained gaze met the soft eyes of the man sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Vincent folded the page and tucked it gently in his pocket. "I'm moved by your gift," was all he said as Mary returned carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, and two plates with angel food cake.

"Thank you," Vincent said as Mary left the chamber. He reached for the teapot and poured the steaming liquid into the two cups.

After they had eaten the cake and drank the tea, he led Missy out of his chamber and back up the stairs and through the tunnels. When they reached the portal that would lead back to the park, Vincent turned to her. "Do you know the way back?"

"I think so," she said.

"Then it's time for you to go," Vincent said gently.

"I know, but would you think of me as a bad person if I said I wish I could stay with you?" She asked.

"I would not, but this is not your world, Missy," he said.

"I don't have a place in any world, Vincent," she said softly as she threw her arms around him. "Right now, I feel like Lucy from the Chronicles when Aslan sent her back to England."

"You're not leaving forever, Child, we will meet again," he promised. "Now, you must go home, your family needs you."

Missy nodded and walked through the portal and as it was closing, Vincent felt the pocket where her poem rested. There had to be a way for her to find her place in the world above, he thought sadly. As he reflected on their conversation and her words, an idea began to form in his mind about a way help the lonely young girl gain the acceptance she deserved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 1**

**Chapter 3**

That evening, Catherine arrived at her apartment. She tossed the briefcase onto the sofa and immediately went into the kitchen to make some tea. She still held the small wadded up piece of paper from the school assembly in her hand. This poem reminded her so much of Vincent and the isolation he endured whenever he came into her world.

She sat down on the couch as the teapot began to whistle. She went to remove it from the heat, and pulled a teacup down from the cabinet. Returning to the couch, she placed the cup on the coffee table and unfolded the paper and smoothed it out against the hard wood of the table.

"Catherine?" she heard her name being called along with the familiar tapping. It startled her, but as she turned around, she smiled when she could see Vincent through the window on the balcony. She stood up quickly and went to open the door.

"Vincent, I thought I wouldn't see you, tonight," she began as she wrapped her arms around him. "Isn't Father supposed to return tonight?"

"Yes, he returned earlier this evening," he began to speak once their embrace had loosened. "I came to ask you for some help."

"What can I do?" she asked. "You look troubled."

Vincent handed Catherine the folded up sheet of paper Missy had given him. "Just read this."

Catherine did as he said, and when she got to the bottom of the poem and read the name of the author, she looked at him. "I don't believe this. How did you get this?"

"She gave it to me," Vincent began. "She found her way into the tunnels earlier today. Mouse had devised all those booby traps, and she got caught in one. I found her, and brought her to my chamber to talk."

"Does Father know about her?" Catherine asked, her intention of showing him the slip of paper on her coffee table momentarily forgotten.

"Not yet," Vincent said, "after we drank some tea this afternoon, I took her to the Central Park entrance before Father had returned. I know I will have to tell him about her, because I would like to meet with her again, and I did make a promise to her."

"Why?"

"She's lonely, Catherine," Vincent said. "She told me that she would like to have a friend, but that no one would give her the chance," he paused. "She asked me if I was ever lonely and when I told her that sometimes I am, she said that to her, being alone is alright, but to be lonely is the worst feeling in the world."

Catherine handed the poem back to Vincent, and went back inside and over to the coffee table. Once she retrieved the poem she had found, she walked back over to him. "I think I understand, you feel connected to her somehow, don't you?"

"Yes," was all he said.

She looked down at the piece of paper, nodded, and then handed it to him. "Read this, Vincent. When I read it the first time, I thought you probably could have written it."

He accepted the piece of paper and looked down at the familiar handwriting and began to read. "Where did you get this?" he asked once he had finished reading the poem.

"I found it today at one of the schools where we do those Career Day assemblies," she said softly as she went back inside to retrieve the cup of tea she had been drinking before he had arrived. She brought the steaming liquid to her lips and once she had finished the tea, she placed the cup near the opened door. "She writes beautifully, don't you think?"

Vincent nodded, "did you meet her?"

"No I didn't talk to her, but I did see her. She was sitting alone in the auditorium. The kids seemed to either avoid her or tease her," Catherine said softly. "Kids can be really cruel sometimes."

"I know, she and I spent much of the afternoon talking and she spoke of this. I got the feeling that she really needed someone to talk to," he said.

Catherine nodded, "what do you think we could do for her?"

"I wanted to ask you if there was some sort of creative writing contest where she could possibly get some sort of recognition for her writing," he said. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I think Missy has a great deal of potential as a writer, she simply needs to feel the significance in what she writes."

"I think there is, Joe said that one of the big publishing houses here in town is hosting something along the line of historical style amateur writing contest. Do you think she would be upset if we anonymously submitted the poem she gave to you?" She asked.

"The question is, do you believe she would win?" Vincent asked.

"With this writing, she would at least be a shoe-in for a prize. Come to think of it, I have the magazine here, maybe we can see what the contest rules are," Catherine went back inside and over to the cabinet where her magazines were being kept. She pulled out the issue and began to thumb through it, she returned to the balcony. "OK, here it is, Varient Publishing hosts it and look, they even posted the winning poem from last year."

"May I see it?"

"Yes, it's right there," Catherine pointed it out once Vincent held the magazine in his hands.

Once he read the poem, he looked up, and shook his head. "The emotion's not there," he said simply, "but it says here that the writer of the poem from last year is 39 years old, and after the contest, she published an entire book of poetry. It says here that the publisher has offered this as the first prize."

"Is there an age limit?" Catherine asked.

Vincent scanned the rules, "no, we can enter her."

Catherine looked down at the coupon from over Vincent's shoulder, "we have to get her address and phone number, tonight."

"Why so soon?" Vincent asked.

"The deadline has to be postmarked by tomorrow, or the entry won't be counted at all," Catherine said. "We have to enter her, Vincent. I don't know too many adults who can write this well."

Vincent nodded, "where do we start?"

"I'll give you the phone book and pour you some tea," Catherine went into the kitchen leaving Vincent outside on the balcony. She would have liked it if he had come inside with her, but he did not wish to, and she had no intention of forcing the issue. As she came back outside with the book, she handed it to him, and he opened it. As he was thumbing through it, she returned and placed a teacup on the small table within his reach.

"Her last name is Parks," Vincent said, but when he reached the page, he sighed deeply when he saw two pages filled with people who carried the name.

"This isn't going to be easy," Catherine said when she saw all the names.

"Missy said that her father and brothers own and run a dry cleaning business, in fact, that was how I was going to get you in touch with her," Vincent said. "Does that help?"

"That makes it easier," she said going back inside. When she returned, she was carrying the yellow pages.

When they found the address, Catherine cut the coupon out of the magazine and placed it on the small table. Returning inside, she pulled out her typewriter out and plugged it into the wall. She turned it on, sat down and typed the poem onto a clean sheet of paper.

When the last line was finished, she pulled the page out, shut the machine off, returned to where he was sitting, and handed both to him.

"Compare them to make sure there are no mistakes in the copy," she said.

Vincent read the poem line by line and when he found no errors in the copy, he handed that to Catherine and tucked the original back in his pocket.

"It says here the poem needs a title," Catherine said.

Vincent pulled the paper out of his pocket, and after reading the verse for what must have been the twentieth time, he looked up from the paper. "Call it, _The Wind Will Guide Me_."

Catherine wrote the title Vincent gave onto the small coupon. Once she had every box filled in, she walked over to the desk and pulled an envelope out. Returning her place on the balcony, she sat down and began addressing the envelope using Missy's family's business as the return address. She licked a stamp and pressed it in the corner of the envelope. This she handed to Vincent, who tucked the coupon and Missy's poem inside.

"Do you think we are doing the right thing by sending this?" Catherine asked as Vincent sealed the envelope.

"I don't know, but I believe that Missy has a very good chance of winning," he said. "She did tell me that her dream was to be a writer, and she hoped that one day, someone would see the beauty in the words she writes."

"Meeting you made that happen, Vincent. She met someone who has a poetic soul," Catherine said.

"Perhaps, but I believe she needs it more up here, so that she can find her place in this world. Right now, she doesn't feel that she belongs anywhere, above or below," he whispered.

"That bad?" Catherine asked.

Vincent nodded and looked at Catherine, "I believe we are doing the right thing."

"But, if she does win, she may find herself surrounded by false friends," Catherine said softly.

"The real ones will be there with her too, and she will know them, for there are friends she has yet to meet. Perhaps, this will be a lesson for those cruel children who have tormented her," Vincent said gently.

Catherine nodded and pointed to the envelope he held, "then you do the honors and mail this for me."

Vincent smiled and tucked the letter neatly away. "I will do that, but now dear Catherine, I must go."

She nodded, "I'll make contact with Missy tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't tell her what we did," he said smiling.

"I won't, it will be a surprise." Catherine said as Vincent left the way he had come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 1**

**Chapter 4**

Missy woke the following morning and crawled out of bed. Her father and brothers were already at work. She was used to this, it was her every day routine, she left after her father and brothers, she returned and was in bed asleep when they came home.

She went to the closet and pulled out a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. As she was getting dressed she began to reflect on the events of the past afternoon. She remembered Vincent's words as she ate breakfast, and smiled when she thought about him. In one afternoon, he had become more than her friend, he had become her mentor.

After she had eaten breakfast, she put on her coat, reached for her backpack, poetry notebook, and left the apartment. She always walked to school, it was only a few blocks away from where she lived and she did not like the bus because it was too loud.

When she reached the school, she opened the glass door and entered the building. Down some hallways, she came to her locker, pulled the books she needed out of the backpack and stuffed it inside. As soon as she closed the locker, she turned around and started walking down the hall in the direction of the room where her science class was held. She walked in and saw that the room was about half full of students. The rest usually trickled in after the warning bell sounded. She sat down in her usual seat, in the back of the room. There she would hope each morning for some silence. This morning, unlike all the other mornings, instead of feeling lonely, she was simply sitting alone.

As soon as the tardy bell sounded, she closed her poetry notebook and looked up to see the teacher entering the room with a tall, slender, boy.

"Class," the teacher began, "this is Michael, and he's new here. Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?"

Missy looked at the boy a little more intently. He was definitely cute, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle and he had a warm and gentle smile.

"Yes Ma'am," he said, his voice coming out a strong southern dialect. "My name is Mike Ross, I'm originally from Paris, Texas, but my folks, kid brother, 'n me just moved out here when my dad started working at Varient Publishing. I'm not much for speeches, though."

"Why don't you sit down then, there's a seat in the back row next to Melissa?" the teacher suggested.

"Missy the sissy, you mean," Suzy said loudly causing the other kids to laugh. Missy looked down at her desk, her face flushing crimson.

"That's enough, Suzy!" the teacher said as Mike looked around the room.

"Who is Melissa?" he asked, and when no one said anything, he saw her hunched over her work, an empty desk next to her. He strolled casually to the back of the room and sat down next to her.

As soon as the class was over an hour later, Missy stood up hoping to make an easy escape. She figured after the humiliation Suzy had subjected her to, that the best thing was to get away so that Mike wouldn't see that she was deeply embarrassed by the torment the other kids subjected her to.

By the time her lunch hour rolled around, she had pretty much put the events in her science class behind her. She hadn't seen Mike since then, as he was not in any of her morning classes.

Missy got in line for lunch, and once she had her tray, she went to a table and sat down alone. She ate her lunch quietly unaware that Mike had spotted her from across the room and was coming over to sit with her. It was not until she heard his voice greeting her that she looked up.

"Hi, Melissa."

"Hi," she whispered.

"I wanted to talk to you after class this morning, but you left so quickly," Mike said.

"Yeah, I had some stuff I had to do," she replied softly.

"Did you?" he asked, "or were you trying to get away from those snobs?"

She looked up somewhat surprised by his question.

"Let me guess, you're wonderin' how it is that an old country bumpkin like me could peg those kids for being snobs?" he asked.

"You really think they are?" she asked closing her notebook.

"Yeah, I had 'em pegged, the moment I walked into that room," he said. "Miss Ladida and her lipstick and trendy clothes," he grinned. "Sometimes there's more than meets the eye when it comes to people. OK, it's no secret, I was one of the popular kids back home, but the truth is, I saw this stuff happenin' to my kid brother and my folks told me as the big brother, it was my place to do somethin' about it."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I told my Dad that he should take that job at Varient and give us all a new start," he said. "My dad listened obviously. Now we live in the middle of New York City. You wanna talk 'bout being out of place. To you city folk, I talk weird, dress weird, and even eat weird."

"I think there's more significance to what one says than how they say it," Missy said.

"Yeah, you're right," he said smiling.

"You really would want to talk to _me_?"

"Yeah, you're quiet, but seem much nicer than the others," he said.

"But, you don't really know me."

"I know, but I'm just sayin' that I want to get to know you better, and that contrary to popular opinion, I don't think anything bad of you. I'll tell ya what, if it makes you feel better, then I'll go to the others and will openly admit to being a sissy too."

"You're not a sissy, Mike," she said softly looking at him. To call him a sissy would be like calling her a linebacker. There was no way she would ever believe that Mike Ross was a sissy. He was close to the six-foot mark, his sun-streaked blonde hair fell over his brow, and his blue eyes sparking as he looked at her.

"Neither of us is, so you listen to me, Melissa. You can't let 'em get ya down, OK?" he said softly.

Missy stood up and reached down for her tray. "Thanks, Mike, I'll try not to."

As she walked over to drop her tray off, Suzy's boyfriend, Charlie, had seen them talking and he approached her, a smug look covering his face as he got right behind her and stuck his foot directly in her path causing her to fall.

Missy could not even react to this, and the next thing she knew, she was on the floor the tray beneath her and chocolate pudding smeared across the front of her T-shirt. She did not dare get back on her feet until she heard Charlie walking away laughing. By then, other kids started chanting 'Charlie...Charlie...' as jitters of laughter erupted throughout the lunchroom. Missy could feel the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, shame evident in her eyes, as she stood up and ran for the sanctuary of the girls' restroom leaving the tray on the floor behind her.

Mike, had, by this time, stood up, and cornered Charlie. "You Yankee snob," he snarled and began to punch Charlie, leaving the bully with a bloody nose. "A real man doesn't bully a girl," he said loudly and eventually two of the teachers had to come in between and separate them.

Inside the restroom, Missy approached the mirror and could see her face was now red and blotchy. She grabbed a paper towel and ran it under the tap on one of the sinks. She wiped the wet paper over her face trying to wipe away the tears, but when it failed, she locked herself inside one of the stalls and began to weep softly. Vincent, she thought to herself, I wish you were here. I wish you could somehow help me.

When she came out of the restroom some five minutes later, it was time for her to go to class. Mike was now gone, and she guessed that he had no intention of hanging around her anymore. She went through the rest of the school day like a zombie, and when it came time to dress out for gym, she was a nervous wreck.

During the kickball game, Suzy played a mean game, kicking the ball directly at Missy, always aiming for her face. At one time, she had been successful, the ball crashing against Missy's nose, causing her to fall backwards onto the dirt. The game had to be stopped, and when the coach reached her, he sent her directly to the nurse's office. She remained in her gym clothes, but walked down the hall with a swollen and bleeding nose. The nurse said that she could do nothing for her, so she simply sent Missy back to class. The coach told her to go change and that she had been dismissed early and should just go home. She returned to the locker room, changed back into her jeans, but left her gym shirt on for the walk home. She wadded up the gym shorts, tucked it under her arm, grabbed her poetry notebook, and left.

One stop at her locker, she picked up her backpack, and walked slowly down the hall towards the exit. This had to have been the single most horrible day of my life, Missy thought as she stepped outside, her head constantly down, her hand covering her nose. She could feel the bright sunshine cascading down from between the tall buildings and onto her arms. She walked slowly in the direction of where she lived not really caring who saw her or what they thought.

She didn't notice that a car had pulled to the side of the road until the driver had rolled down the window and called out to her.

"Excuse me, but aren't you Missy Parks?" the woman called out.

"Yes, unfortunately," Missy mumbled keeping her head down, and her nose in a wad of tissues. She continued to walk.

"My name is Cathy Chandler, I'm a friend of Vincent's." Missy stopped suddenly and turned around. She walked slowly over to the car and when she got there, Catherine smiled warmly at her. "He asked me to make contact with you."

"He did?" she asked looking up slightly.

Missy's face was streaked with tears and Catherine's heart really went out to the girl. "Yes."

"Can you take me to see him?" Missy asked, her voice cracking. "Please!"

The urgency and pain in the girl's appeal made the decision for Catherine. "I can do that, come on, get in, I'll take you to him."

Missy got in the passenger side of Catherine's car, "thank you." She sniffed loudly as Catherine drove in the direction of her apartment.

"Bad day?" Catherine asked sympathetically noticing Missy's swollen nose, and red eyes.

"Every day is a bad day when you're in junior high," Missy answered softly.

"I can imagine," she began. "I saw you yesterday when I did the Career Day assembly."

"You're a lawyer, right?" Missy asked.

"Yes, I work for the DA's office," Catherine answered, but glanced over at Missy as she was driving. "If you need some more tissues, there are some in the glove box."

Missy nodded and reached with her free hand towards the knob to open the compartment. Once she had found them, she pulled some fresh tissues from the box, and pressed them gently against her nose. The old tissues, she discarded.

"Is your nose still bleeding?" Catherine asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Don't worry, we're almost there," she said.

Moments later, she pulled the car up to the curb and they got out. "Where are we?" Missy asked, not recognizing the apartment building, and expecting to see Central Park instead.

"I live upstairs," Catherine explained. "One stop, I promise."

Missy nodded and followed.

When they got upstairs, Catherine took off her jacket and once she removed the blazer underneath, she tossed it across the arm of the sofa. Against the legs of the coffee table, she leaned the briefcase she had been carrying. "Why don't you go in the bathroom and wash your face? I have to change clothes and then we can go. OK?"

Missy nodded and after Catherine directed her to the bathroom, she was able to wash the dried blood from her face being careful not to put too much pressure against her nose. When she touched it, it hurt and the pain was so intense that the tears stung her eyes and she began to feel dizzy. She reached for a tissue and covered her nose with it; the blood was still coming out, though not as intently as it had been before. She could do nothing but hold the tissues under her nose as she walked out of the bathroom.

As she did, Catherine came out of her room; a casual pair of jeans and a sweatshirt now replaced the business suit she had been wearing earlier. "OK, we can go now. We're going to go down through the basement," she explained, "it's much easier than through the park, it's also safer."

Without speaking, Missy followed, her head constantly down.

Once they were downstairs and in the dark basement, Catherine led her through it, to a ladder that would extend down into a tunnel. "It's OK," she said once they had descended the ladder and had reached the underground tunnels. Missy shrank back in fear. "There are no traps here, Mouse knows better."

"Who is Mouse?" Missy asked.

"He lives here and is the one who set the traps. Those traps were not intended to scare you, Missy; they are there to protect the people who use these tunnels as their sanctuary. There are a number of people who live down here, many of them children, abandoned and alone. Very few people from up there," she pointed back in the direction they had come, "know about this place, those that do, we call 'Helpers', because they assist the tunnel community. For this reason, Vincent has asked you to not speak of him or of the tunnels to anyone. I'm going to take you to Father first, he's a doctor, so maybe he can give you something for your nose, OK?"

"Is his real name 'Father'?" she asked feeling somewhat intimidated about going to see someone other than Vincent.

"No, but it is what everyone calls him. Although he is very stern, he's a kind man and is very wise," Catherine answered.

Missy nodded and continued to follow Catherine until they reached Father's chamber. Vincent and Father were seated inside, a chessboard separating them. Out of relief to have seen him, Missy began to cry as she called out Vincent's name and ran into the chamber straight into his arms.

Vincent looked up at Catherine somewhat surprised, but after some moments, ignoring the look that spread across Father's face, he began to cradle the weeping girl in his arms. "It's OK, Missy, don't cry, everything will be fine," he whispered to her.

"What is going on?" Father demanded when he saw Missy wrapped in Vincent's arms. He stood up and walked over to where Catherine was standing. The look on his face depicted that he wanted an explanation right now.

"Father, I can explain everything," Catherine began. "This is Missy Parks, she's Vincent's friend."

Father looked at Vincent, "your friend?"

"Yes," Vincent said softly. "Missy and I are friends, we met yesterday in the late afternoon."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Father asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about this, but after you returned last evening, there was much joy that you had come back to us," Vincent tried to explain all the while holding Missy in his arms. "It all happened while you were away. She was trapped, alone and afraid. I could hear her crying, and Mary came to my chamber hoping I would know the source of the weeping child we had heard resonating through the tunnels. I went, and found Missy hanging in one of the traps. I had to free her from the net and after I helped her, I took her to my chamber and we talked. Later, I made a promise that I would contact Catherine and that we would meet again."

"Father, she begged me to bring her to Vincent," Catherine tried to explain. "I had gone back to the school to see if I could find her, and when I saw her leaving this afternoon, I could not just leave her to cope with everything alone. I know that perhaps this was my mistake to bring her here, but I also knew that she had made the same promise I had made about maintaining the secret of the tunnel world," Catherine paused and looked over at Missy and Vincent. "I know something terrible has happened to her, I do not know what it is, I only feel it."

"Be that as it may, you both know the rules here," Father said sternly. "Catherine, you have to take her back."

Missy, upon hearing Father's words, tightened her hold on Vincent, the tears falling from her eyes. "Don't make me go back, Vincent. Please. There's nothing for me there, no hope, please let me stay with you," her voice emerged, the misery evident in her pleas.

Vincent looked at Catherine helplessly and then back at Father. Without saying a word, he brushed the hair back from her face and continued to hold her in his arms.

"Father, before you send her back, could you just look at her?" Catherine asked. "She's holding on to him as though he is her only support in the world. Could you honestly take that away from her, only to leave her in the lonely existence she must endure up there?"

"Catherine, my responsibility..." Father began.

"Is to the children, correct?" Catherine interrupted him.

"Yes, to our children, but she is not one of ours," Father said.

"But, she is Vincent's friend," Catherine said pointedly, "and you know as well as I that the bond of friendship is very strong. Just look at her, that's all I ask. If you believe that this child would willingly leave this place without Vincent, then I think you are blind as to what has happened to her."

"What do you want me to do?" Father sighed and looked at Catherine.

"Well, she does have a pretty severe nosebleed," Catherine said. "Maybe you should have a look at it."

Father stood up and walked over to Vincent. When Missy felt his presence behind her, she tightened her hold even more. "It's OK," Father finally said trying to make amends with her, "I won't make you go, but I do need to take a look at your nose. If it is as bad as Catherine believes, I would need to check to make sure you didn't break it."

Vincent nodded and he leaned down and began to speak to her. "It's OK, Missy, no one is going to send you away." He could feel her trembling under his arms, and continued to speak to her, his voice offering his comfort.

She looked up; tears were still in her eyes. It was then that Vincent saw her nose.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

Missy looked down at her lap. "The kids in school...gym class..." her voice trailed off and she covered her face with her hands unable to speak about what had happened. Shame and sadness were evident in her eyes.

"Don't be afraid to tell us, we're your friends, Missy, we're here to help you," Vincent said gently. "What did the children do to you?"

"Nothing," she whispered hiding her face against Vincent's shoulder.

"Something did happen," Vincent said softly. "I'm your friend, will you not tell me?"

"I _am_ a sissy, just like they said," she began to cry bitterly.

"No, you're not," Catherine offered. "You're a brave girl. It takes a very brave person to always believe that life will get better and to never give up."

Missy turned around from the sanctuary of Vincent's arms unsure of what Catherine was eluding to. After some moments, she recognized the wadded up piece of paper in the kind woman's hands.

Catherine unfolded the paper and began to read.

_Will I ever find in the stars and sunshine_

_A friend who understands the beauty in my words_

_The love in a verse, and the emotion of a sonnet?_

_Will I ever know what it feels to be accepted_

_For the beauty that is within me?_

_When I whisper to the moon asking if he could hear_

_The visions echoing in my heart,_

_The pain growing as I question my worth._

_Will I ever know what it feels to be loved_

_For the beauty that is within me?_

_The days melt to weeks and those to passing years_

_I wait, the longing for a friend grows,_

_As my exile grows with it._

_Will I ever break free from rejection and let them see_

_The beauty that is within me?_

_I ask the summer sun and the winter moon,_

_If I should wait and not give up hope _

_Will their answer come?_

_But if others do not see, then how could I believe_

_In the beauty that is within me?_

_The shadows continue to surround me_

_My heart pleads for a wonder_

_To finally believe that there truly is_

_A beauty that exists within me._

Father looked at Vincent as Catherine finished reading the poem. "Did you write that?"

Vincent shook his head, "no, Missy did."

Looking at Missy, Father spoke, "you are living the words in that poem, are you not?"

Missy nodded numbly as Catherine spoke, "I believe that is why she threw it away at the school. It's a reminder to her of her isolation."

Suddenly, Father began to realize that what Catherine had insisted had been the truth. He had been blind to the significance of the friendship between Missy and Vincent. After some awkward moments of silence, he spoke, "I think I understand now why she's so important to you, Vincent." He turned to Missy and spoke, his voice filled with regret, "I'm sorry."

Missy looked at Father and nodded, but her own insecurity prevented her from saying anything.

"Vincent, take her to your chamber," Father said, "I will be along in a moment. Catherine, will you help me?"

"Of course, Father," she said softly.

Vincent stood up, Missy was still in his arms, and instead of putting her back on her feet, he simply carried her out of Father's chamber and inside his adjoining room.

Once inside, he laid her on the bed, resting her head against the pillows. After some moments passed, he looked down at her, concern evident in his voice when he finally spoke. "Are you going to tell me now what happened today? How did you injure your nose?"

"It's too embarrassing to talk about it," Missy said softly. "I just want to forget it happened."

"If you harbor the pain, it will only get worse. I know you're hurting, Missy, and I know you're lonely, but you have friends now, friends who care for you and it might make the pain easier to bare if you speak of what is troubling you," he said taking her hand gently in his.

Missy contemplated his words and then looked up at him. "I was in gym class today. There's a girl there who has decided that she hates me. Her name is Suzy, and during the kickball game, she kicked the ball to me as hard as she could. I wasn't standing very far away, and I guess I should have ducked, but by the time I even contemplated it, it had already hit me in the face. I don't remember what happened after that, but I know she was trying to do it and that she had laughed after she had done it. As usual, she didn't get into any trouble, she's popular, and so she can just walk away from it like it was nothing. When the coach saw my nose, he sent me to the nurse, but she didn't do anything to help, just gave me some tissues and sent me back to class," she said softly.

"Did anything else happen?"

"In gym class?"

"No, I meant today," Vincent said gently.

"The usual, this morning, I was called 'Missy the sissy' in front of the new boy. I thought maybe he would like me. He's cute, has blue eyes and blonde hair. He also has a good sense of humor, but I guess I was kidding myself to believe he might actually like me, because after Suzy's boyfriend tripped me in the cafeteria at lunch-time, I didn't see him again."

"You like this boy, yes?"

Missy nodded, "he talked to me at lunch and seemed to like me, but..." her voice trailed and she could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"But what?"

"But, then he was gone, and I wonder if he really liked me or if he was just playing me for the fool." She covered her face in her hands and cried softly. After some moments, she looked back up at him, "I guess I should be used to bad things happening at school, it happens all the time, and I can't help but ask why they must always happen to me. Vincent, why are they so cruel to me?" she looked up and could see his face illuminated by the light from the candles which were burning in his chamber.

"I do not know, Missy," he said gently. "I suppose they define that as being strong, or having power over someone they consider weak. Little do they know, that this is a sign of their own internalized weakness."

"I...don't want to be...a sissy anymore...I want to be strong, like you...really...I do," she cried, her voice breaking with emotion and she reached out to him, hoping he would hold her in his arms.

When he wrapped her in his arms, he began to speak softly to her, his words soothing her. "You do not have to try, Missy, you already are strong, but a person can only be so strong. Promise me that no matter what happens, you will not ever believe that this is a shortcoming in you. It is not, it lies in them, and they must discover that strength lies within, and is not acquired through external means. I know that it is not easy for you, and I understand your pain much better than you can imagine. The trouble with many people is that they believe strength is defined in power, but that is not true, it is defined in wisdom, and that comes from your heart."

She laid her head back against the pillow once their embrace ended, "you're the best friend I ever had."

Vincent smiled weakly, "Child, you will always be a friend to me."

She reached for his hand and once he had taken it, she closed her eyes. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Father will be here in a moment and will take care of you," Vincent said.

"Will you be here with me, too?" Missy asked and when she opened her eyes and saw him nodding, she relaxed and closed her eyes again.

Father and Catherine entered the chamber some moments later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 1**

**Chapter 5**

Twenty minutes later, Father smiled down at Missy. "You're going to be OK, Missy, nothing is broken."

"Why does it hurt so much then?" Missy asked not daring to reach up and touch her nose.

"It is a little bruised, nothing more, and it will take a couple of days for that to heal," Vincent said gently. "But, it is good sign that the bleeding has stopped."

Father nodded in concurrence.

"I'm glad it's Friday," Missy said softly.

"Why is that?" Catherine asked.

"If the other kids were to see me this way, they would only tease me more about it," she said softly.

Father looked at Catherine, "are the children up there really so cruel to each other?"

Catherine nodded, "yes, unfortunately, they are."

Missy looked into Father's eyes, her own filling with tears, "thank you for helping me and for not sending me away. I know I don't belong here, but I wish I did. I told Vincent yesterday that I will never tell anyone about him or this wonderful place," she paused and tried to sit up. With Vincent and Father's help she managed. "Please believe me, Father. I know that it will be hard, but if I can survive junior high, I can keep this secret. Besides, to me this place is like Narnia, a place so far away from reality, but for me so real. I don't want to do anything that will destroy that, as it is the only joy I have, and you are my only friends."

Father nodded, the girl's words touching him, "thank you, Missy."

It was the early evening when Catherine brought Missy home. As they sat in the front seat of Catherine's car, Missy looked up at the dark windows of the apartment. An indescribable sadness overcame her and she looked back over to Catherine. "In my favorite book, the narrator says, 'I was now leaving home and going to the place where I lived'."

"Is that how you feel right now?" she asked.

Missy nodded.

"Where did you read that, in which book?" Catherine asked.

"Summer of my German Soldier, I read it in English class last semester," Missy said softly. "I never really understood what she had meant until today. I guess I remember it because the girl in the story is my age, and she knew how it felt to experience loneliness."

"What do you usually do on the weekends?" Catherine asked opting to change the subject.

"Not much, I finish the assignments I have for school and watch TV," she said.

"What about your family?" Catherine asked.

"They work the whole time, I rarely see them," she said softly.

"Do they know of your struggles?"

Missy shook her head. "I don't think so. See, I tried to speak to them about it, but they were so stressed out about work that they may have listened but they didn't hear me."

"I think sometimes from your words, that it hurts you that they aren't always there to listen to you. You are not an adult yet, you are still a child, and you need to have someone listen to you," she said.

"Maybe, but now that I have found you, and Father, and Vincent, I feel better about all of that."

"I'm glad I could help," Catherine said gently as Missy undid the seatbelt. "Listen, if you have nothing planned for tomorrow, how would it be if we got together and went to the art museum? They are doing an opening on modern abstract art, and I was thinking about going. Are you interested?"

"You mean you would really want to spend time with me?" Missy asked warily.

"Of course I would," she said smiling. "So, you haven't answered my question yet. I could take you to lunch afterwards, and then we could go back to my place and look at some poetry."

"That sounds wonderful," Missy said.

Catherine smiled. "Then it's settled, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 9. How's that?"

"It sounds great, thanks Cathy," she said softly and got out of the car. Once she closed the door, she walked slowly towards the entrance that would lead inside the apartment building.

Catherine watched until Missy had disappeared inside the building. She started the car and drove back in the direction of her own apartment.

* * *

The week passed quickly, Missy found that she was becoming close friends with Catherine, and had spent the evening hours with her, drinking tea, and reading poetry. She discovered that those times were just as special as going through the basement of Catherine's building to meet with Vincent and Father. She learned that Vincent and Catherine loved each other, and that Vincent had saved Catherine's life. Her respect for her friend doubled; possibly tripled when she heard about all the things they had been through together. She wondered often if she would ever find that kind of love. 

Each time she visited the tunnels with Catherine, she became better acquainted with Mary, and was introduced to various members of the tunnel community, quickly recognizing them and calling them by name. Finally, she was introduced to Mouse who spoke regrettably about her being trapped in his nets during her first visit.

Two weeks after meeting Catherine, Missy arrived at school and when she walked into her first period class, she saw Mike again. He was sitting next to the desk she usually occupied. He held something in his hand and when she came closer, she discovered that it was nothing for school, but rather a small, thin hardcover book.

"Hi, Melissa," he greeted her.

"Hi," she said softly. "Where have you been?"

"Home, I got suspended two weeks ago," he said.

"You did, but that was when you started here," she objected.

"I know, but what can I say, I've got that Texas temperament?" he said grinning. "I got tossed out cause I was fighting."

"You were, but why?" she asked.

"I saw that creep that tripped you in the cafeteria. Do you honestly believe that I'd just stand there and let him shove you around? I know I come from Texas, and our mentality is different, but no man has the right to harm a lady."

"Y-you mean you got kicked out of here because you stood up for _me_?" she asked.

"Yeah, but ol' Charlie got his too. You should have seen his nose; he looked like he had gotten into a fight with a wall. The point is, I'd do it again if I had to," he said reaching for her hand.

She offered hers willingly as he continued to speak. "I've liked you from the start, and I want us to be friends. You don't have to worry, I'll stand by you and if those bullies try anything, they'll have to try it through me first."

He handed her the book and she looked down to discover that it was a book of poetry by Robert Frost. "You like poetry?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I learned a long time ago that liking poetry doesn't mean one is a wimp, it just means, they possess an internal wisdom about things that are pure and romantic."

Missy smiled weakly. "I never thought I would meet someone my age who likes it. Actually, I never believed that I would find a reason to like coming to school, but knowing that you're here, I think, makes a difference."

* * *

After this, the traumas at school did continue, but Missy discovered a hidden truth in Vincent and Mike's words. She longed to tell Mike about Vincent and her friends from the tunnels, but remembering always the promise she had made, she kept this to herself. 

Two days after they had become friends, she brought him The Chronicles of Narnia and said simply that she had found her Aslan.

Mike didn't question the symbolism in her words, he simply read the seven books and told her two weeks later that he had never read them before and that he enjoyed them.

After that, Missy began to spend more time with Mike, and less with Catherine, Vincent and Father, but she would visit them whenever she could. She never forgot the kindness of her friends, and she began to write poetry for them, and those she put in a different notebooks. She had hoped that when Christmas came around, that she would be able to give each one of them a notebook as a gift.

The notebooks, she entitled 'My Aslan' and inside the first page, she wrote a letter to Vincent. No one would know whom the letter was meant for, but the three people she treasured, Father, Vincent, and Catherine, would always know.

* * *

Three weeks after Mike and her became friends, Missy returned to the tunnels to visit Vincent and Father. Under her arms, she carried two large paper sacks; and this time, she returned alone. 

Slowly, she walked through Central Park and towards the entrance to the drainpipe. She could see tunnel children playing in the park, and recognized some of them. A few of them even waved. She rubbed her pocket to make sure the small flashlight was still there, and entered the large opening.

As she made her way through the tunnel towards the door, she continued to look back to make sure no one was behind her. When she reached the sliding wall, she lowered the two bags to the ground and fished the object from her pocket. Once she turned on the flashlight, she began searching for the pipe she could tap on to send a signal that a friend had come to visit. When the wall slid open some moments later, Mouse greeted her and together they walked in companionable silence to Father's chamber.

When they arrived, Mouse excused himself and returned to the tunnels. Missy smiled when Father looked up. "Hello, Missy, what brings you here?" he asked cheerfully, placing the book he had been reading on the table.

"Hi Father, I brought some old clothing that I don't need anymore, I thought maybe the children here could use some of this stuff. I also asked my brother if there were any unclaimed pieces lying around the shop. He gave me a bunch of stuff yesterday and now I have two large bags stacked in my room, but will probably need some help getting them to you."

"You said nothing about where this stuff was going?" he asked, concern etched in his words.

"No I didn't say anything and Travis really didn't seem to care either way, because the stuff had been stacking up in the storeroom at the shop for months now, and he just wanted to get rid of it. I guess he thought I'd be taking it to the shelter in Greenwich Village, but I thought it would do more good here."

"Thank you," he said.

"I should be thanking you," she said softly. "Though it has been some time since I last came here, I haven't forgotten what you did for me, and I really didn't know how it was I could thank you, but maybe this stuff is a good start."

Vincent appeared in the door of the chamber. "Missy, it's been some time since we have seen you. How are you doing?"

"Fine," she said softly. "I just brought some clothes for the kids."

"That's very kind of you," Vincent said.

"Vincent, she's become a Helper it seems," Father observed. "One of our youngest."

Missy smiled brightly, "Cathy told me about the Helpers some time ago. Does this mean, I'm now one of them?"

Vincent nodded giving her a hug, "yes, it appears you are."

"Oh, wow, you know that's what I had wanted to become since the first day I was here," she said.

"You did?" Father asked.

"Well, yeah, I mean, I knew from the start that this wasn't my world, and as much as it hurt, I knew that the only thing I could do was to find a way to somehow connect myself to this place," she began. "The weird thing was, I didn't really know how, and the clothing ---well, that was just an idea. I didn't expect to be rewarded for it. I figured that it was simply a token of my gratitude to you for helping me."

Vincent looked down at her, "there is no reason for you to feel you must do something in return," he scolded gently. "A friendship is not determined by how much you give materially, but rather, how much you value it in your heart."

"Perhaps, you're right, but why should I throw all this stuff away on a principle? I figure that if someone else could use and benefit from it, then why not?" She asked. "Besides, I didn't do it because I doubted our friendship, Vincent, I did it because I value it."

"That's very nicely put," Father said and turned to Vincent. "Don't you think? This girl's got a poetic soul, she even speaks in verse."

Missy blushed slightly and shrugged her shoulders. She remembered Mike's drawl and how she had told him the day they had met that it didn't matter how one said something but what they said. Still, she couldn't deny that his comment make her feel good.

Father leaned over and opened the first bag and looked inside, under clothes and socks were stacked inside. "It's all clean," Missy offered, "I washed everything before bringing it. There are two pairs of shoes wrapped in plastic underneath the clothing."

Vincent opened the second bag, and began pulling dresses, skirts, shirts and pants from the bag. "The girls will be thrilled with these things, Missy, thank you."

"She's got some more clothing at her apartment," Father began.

"You do?"

"Yeah my brother gave it to me, it's stuff from the shop, mostly for grown-ups, but Mary can probably do something with the material if no one can wear any of it," she said. "Some of it is very nice, but it's all unclaimed clothing. My brother said that they'd clean this stuff and no one would come and claim it or pay for the work done. He complained about it being a loss of money, but they all seemed happy enough about it being taken out of the storage room. Though I don't know how long I can store it in my room, I will find a way to get it to you." She looked up to Vincent, and it was obvious that she was seeking his approval.

He nodded, "I'm very proud of you."

She smiled.

"How are things in school?" Vincent asked opting to change the subject.

"Still hard, but it's a little better now. Three weeks ago, Mike came back. He was the new boy I told you about, the one Suzy humiliated me in front of," she began. "I didn't really think about why he disappeared, but then suddenly, he came back and told me that he had been suspended from school for fighting. I was really surprised, but then he told me that it had happened because he had stood up for me. He and I are real friends now. Often I wish I could tell him about you and how much you both mean to me, but I know deep down inside that I cannot."

"Is he a good person?" Father asked.

"He's a wonderful person, very cordial and kind. He always says because he's from Texas that he sometimes feels like an oddity here, but we really do watch out for each other." She looked at Vincent, "he has the same color eyes you do, and his hair is lighter than yours, and though he speaks differently than you, there are similarities in the meaning behind what he says. I wish you could one day meet him, I know you would like him."

"Through your words, he sounds like the friend you always wished for," Vincent said softly.

"Not entirely, Vincent," she said softly. "_You _are the friends I always wished for."

* * *

_A/n: Sorry for such a choppy chapter, this sort of is the tie in chapter that gets the ball rolling for the rest of the story. Kind of the bit that needs to be there in order to tie the other bits together._


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n: My thanks for the review and hopefully you 'B&B' fans are enjoying my story. :) _

**

* * *

Part 1**

**Chapter 6**

At this time, Mike was walking in the direction of the apartment where his family lived. He knew that during the last few weeks, he had spent just about every free moment he had with Missy. He cared very deeply for her, he felt protective of her, and he hoped that she would always be there for him, as he had been there for her. He had asked her if he could see her that afternoon, but she had told him that she neglected some other friends during the last three weeks, and needed to reconnect with them. He understood, but had insisted that they meet that evening for ice cream. She told him she'd be home at seven, and had promised that she would be there waiting for him. After that, they parted company and Mike left the school.

As he made his way home, he glanced up and could see his father's sedan parked near a small dry-cleaning store. He wondered what his father was doing there since it was not quitting-time yet. Curiosity getting the better of him, he approached the store and looked through the pane glass window to the interior of the shop. When he recognized the silhouette of his father inside the store, he opened the door and went inside.

"Dad, what's going on?" He asked as soon as he had approached the counter and could see his father and a woman he did not recognize speaking with the man standing there.

"I'm here on business, son," Herbert Ross said and turned back and addressed the man he had been speaking to before his son had arrived.

"My name is Rachel Summers, this is Herbert Ross my assistant, we're with Varient Publishers and were wondering if you could tell us where Melissa Parks is? It's very important that we speak with her."

"What is this in regards to?" The man asked, his voice gruff. "I'm her father."

"We understand," Rachel continued. "There's nothing wrong, except this was the address we were given to find her and usually people send their home address, but the address matching is the one of your store, Mr. Parks."

Mike continued to listen as the woman spoke and nudged his father. "What's going on?" he whispered urgently. "Is there some kind of trouble?"

Herbert shook his head, "of course not, Mike, Melissa won the poetry contest, and we're here to inform her of this."

"I'm sorry, folks," Missy's father told Rachel. "I don't know what to say, Missy isn't here, and I haven't the foggiest idea of where she is. She was here yesterday to get some junk out of the storage room, then she left, and I didn't see her until late last night. Otherwise, is there anything I can help you with?"

"So we can safely conclude that you were unaware that your daughter had entered a poetry contest and posted it to us with this address?" Mike's father asked.

"No, she never mentioned it to me, though I must say, we rarely speak." He turned around and called to Travis who was working nearest the desk. "Did your sister tell you anything about entering a poetry contest?"

Travis shook his head, "not a thing."

He turned back around and began to speak. "I'm sorry folks, but I think this has got to be a mistake." With that, Missy's father returned to the back of the shop, leaving the three of them alone.

Rachel looked genuinely distressed and turned to Herbert. "Do you think maybe this whole thing is a farce? That this poem could have been plagiarized? "

Herbert shook his head, "I don't know, but I can't help but agree. This looks pretty fishy to me."

"Listen Dad, if you guys looking for Melissa, I've seen her, we go to the same school. She's this girl that sits next to me in science class," Mike said finally interrupting them.

Herbert turned and faced his son, "you know her?"

"Yeah, and I know that she wouldn't plagiarize anything. She's a nice girl, the kids are always picking on her, but we've become friends during the last few weeks," Mike said. "Why would you be looking for her anyway? I overheard you mentioning something about a contest?"

"The decision came down this afternoon that your friend, Melissa has won first prize in our annual poetry writing contest," Rachel began. "We came to this address because it was the only one on the entry form, and we wanted to let her know that she won."

Mike looked at his father for confirmation of what Rachel Summers had just said. "You mean she really won your contest? With what?"

Rachel handed Mike the poem, and Herbert nodded and looked at his son once the boy had read the words of his friend and handed the poem back to Rachel. "Mike, do you know where she lives?"

"Yeah I know, we're supposed to go out tonight, and I have to meet her later," Mike said. "But, what did she win?"

"Varient Publishers is going to produce her poetry in a book," Rachel replied.

"That's great, your news is gonna floor her," Mike said. "Can I be there when you tell her?"

Herbert nodded, "you're gonna have to be, you're the only one who knows where she lives."

Mike nodded as he handed the poem back to his father, "OK, I'll spill the beans, but she's not due back for about an hour."

Rachel nodded, "for _this_ poem, we'll wait."

----

Missy returned to her apartment that same evening. She had had a wonderful time with Vincent and Father and the thought of now being considered a helper made her feel worthy and special. She could never share those feelings, but deep in her heart, she knew that Vincent and Father both could sense her joy.

She was smiling when she approached the door, which would lead inside the large apartment building where she lived. I have thirty minutes to shower and get ready for my date with Mike, she thought to herself, as she ran her hand through her hair. She stuck the key inside the lock and turned it. Although she was somewhat saddened when she had to leave the tunnel world, she looked forward to meeting Mike and was glad that he had insisted on them going out together.

As she went inside and was about to close the door, she saw a brown sedan pulling up to the curb. "Melissa!" she heard someone shouting her name and turned around. Mike was in the car and had rolled the window down and was waving in her direction. He got out and walked over to her.

"You're early, and I look like something the cat dragged in," Missy complained.

"No you don't, you look pretty," Mike said. "Besides, I wouldn't have come so early, but my dad and his colleague need to talk to you about something. Is it OK if we come up?"

"Why do they want to talk to me?" she asked.

Mike cocked his head to one side, "I can't tell, but trust me, you're gonna flip out."

She sighed deeply and waved her hand in the direction of the car where Herbert Ross and Rachel Summer were sitting. "Sure, tell them to come on up."

Once Herbert and Rachel got out of the car, the three of them followed Missy up the stairs and into the apartment where she lived. Once inside, she looked at Mike. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about? I thought we were going to have an ice cream tonight."

"You're Melissa Parks, correct?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"You are the person who wrote the poem, _The Wind Will Guide Me_, correct?" Herbert asked

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she said. "I write poetry, but I don't usually title them."

"If that's the case, would you please take a look at this and tell me if you are the author of this piece?" Herbert asked handing her a piece of paper.

Missy accepted it from him and looked down at it. Across the page were the typed words to the handwritten poem she had given to Vincent the first day they had met. As she read through the lines of the poem, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and looked up at Herbert Ross. "Yes, I did write it and had given it to a friend," she whispered suddenly feeling frightened for Vincent, "b-but how did you get it?"

"You obviously have one heck of a friend, because, they realized that this poem was something special and sent it to us for the judging," she began.

"The judging? What do you mean?" she asked.

"Remember my first day at school when I told our first period class that we moved here because my dad got a job at Varient Publishing?" he asked.

"Not really, I only remember you mentioning something about your brother at lunch, and the reason you moved here," Missy answered.

"I told her about how Gary got teased a lot back home," Mike explained when his father gave him a questioning look.

He turned back to face her and began to speak. "Missy, it is true, Rachel and I work for Varient Publishers and your poem _The Wind Will Guide Me_ has won our annual poetry writing contest. This means that Varient will publish your poetry in a book consisting of only your work. Later, this book will be available in stores, and you will make money as a professional writer."

She looked at Mike, the color draining from her face, "is he serious?"

Mike nodded, "absolutely, it's not bad pocket money for a 12 year old, is it? Maybe I should be letting _you_ buy the ice cream."

Rachel pulled out her business card and handed it to Missy. "I will be in touch with you in the next few days, till then, start going through your poetry, Missy, we're going to need 50 pieces by next week."

"50? As in 5-0?" she asked.

"You have that many, don't you?" Herbert asked.

"Actually, I have over 200," she said.

"Then go through them and see what you want to see in print," he said and Rachel nodded. "You're a professional now, so you're going to have to get used to working deadlines."

She nodded numbly and accepted the card.

"Dad, could you guys do us a favor?" Mike asked, his eyes twinkling.

"I know that look, Mike, so out with it. What kind of mischief are you cookin' up?" Herbert turned to his son.

"Do you think you could come to the school on Monday morning and announce this in front of our class?" Mike asked.

Missy smiled at the thought of this particular announcement coming out in front of those who had always treated her so maliciously, "oh please."

"We'll do better than that, Missy, when the announcement came down this afternoon, and because you are so young, the media seems to have become immediately interested in this particular story," Rachel said. "So chances are, when this announcement is made at your school, some media will likely be present."

"So, in other words, Missy, you don't have to worry about those kids teasing you anymore. From the looks of it, just by writing good poetry, you will manage to rub it back in their faces," Mike said smiling at her.

Herbert looked at his son grinning as he turned to face his son. "You do your family proud, Michael."

"Thanks Dad," Mike said.

Rachel and Herbert turned to leave, and once they had left the apartment, Missy and Mike were standing alone in the living room. She looked at him. "I never thought this would happen to me. It feels like something out of a dream."

"If I hadn't have walked by your dad's shop, I wouldn't even be here right now, and what happened wouldn't have happened at all. Talk about luck," he said smiling. Then he looked at her somewhat skeptically. "But would you please tell me one thing?"

"What?" she asked.

"Who are these friends of yours that entered you in the contest?" he asked. "I happen to know you're much too modest to have done it yourself, and at school, you're usually alone, so it couldn't have been any of them. Who was it?"

Missy looked down at her lap and then back over at him not wishing to tell a lie. "You're right," she whispered. "I didn't enter it, but I can't tell you who did because it has to do with a promise I made."

"I'll respect that," Mike said, "but, I suppose you should ask those friends of yours to help you select the poetry for your book, because though I like poetry, I read your poem, and I really don't understand the depth of it the way you do."

She smiled at the thought of sitting in Vincent's chamber selecting the poetry for the book with him. He would help her, she knew beyond any doubt and to hear his words 'I'm proud of you' clinging in her ear would make all the difference in the world. "You mean you're not upset that I didn't ask you to help?"

"No, actually, I'm kind of relieved," he shrugged his shoulders and looked at her sheepishly. "Besides, in all fairness, if those friends of yours are the ones that entered you, then they are the ones entitled to the honor."

Missy nodded, "thank you and for what it's worth, I think you're a wonderful friend, Mike. I know beyond any doubt because through the good and the bad, you have stood by me."

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. "I hope that one day I can be more than just your friend."

When the kiss ended, Missy blushed and placed her hand over her lips. It had been her first, and just like in her favorite sonnet, it had been the sweetest thing in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 1**

**Chapter 7**

"Vincent!" Missy called out, as she ran through the tunnels the following afternoon. She held her poetry notebook in one hand, a small bag of clothing in the other. "Oh where can he be?" she muttered to herself. She stopped some moments later to catch her breath and put the clothes down on the ground. Maybe I should have gone to Cathy and told her first, she thought, but then she closed her eyes briefly and once she opened them again, she looked down at the notebook she carried. No, she thought firmly shaking her head; Vincent should be the first to know, because deep in her heart, it had to have been his idea.

"Vincent!" she called again, but instead of seeing him, Mary ran up to her somewhat surprised to see her.

"Missy, what is it?" the older woman asked. "You sound like you are completely beside yourself. Is everything OK?"

"Oh Mary, everything is wonderful! I'm sorry for bothering you but could you please tell me where Vincent is, I must speak to him, it's urgent," Missy said, her words coming out in a rush. She reached down for the bag and tried to tuck it back under her arm.

"Did you bring some more clothing to us?" Mary asked.

"Only what I could carry, but I'll find a way to get the rest to you somehow," Missy promised.

"Why don't you let me carry it, and I'll take you to Father's chamber, maybe Vincent is there. They often play chess together in the afternoons," Mary said and took the bag.

"Thank you, I guess I still get lost down here sometimes," she said.

"In time, you will find your way," Mary said.

When they reached the chamber, Missy's heart sank when she realized that neither Father nor Vincent were inside.

Mary looked at her, "I'm sorry, I don't know where they could be. Something must have happened and they had to go take care of if."

Missy nodded, "I understand, but would it be OK if I wait in Vincent's chamber until they come back."

"You realize it may be awhile before they return?" Mary asked.

"I know, but this is so important," she said. "Besides, with all the books Father has, I wouldn't get bored, I could find something to read until they return."

"OK, if that is what you want, then I must get to the kitchen and help William get started with dinner. You're invited to stay, if you don't have any other plans," Mary offered.

"I'd like that very much," Missy said. "I had already told my brother that I had something to do today, and he said that it was OK and there was nothing pressing for me at home."

Mary nodded, "good, then we'll set an extra place for you."

"Thank you," Missy said and walked in the direction of Vincent's chamber. When she arrived, the chamber was dark and empty, but she went inside, the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Once she lit a candle and placed it on the table, she returned to Father's library and looked at the now familiar bookshelf. She pulled one of the books down and returned to Vincent's chamber.

"You're not here," she spoke softly to the stillness of the chamber, "but your spirit is. I learned so much from you, Vincent, how to accept myself and understand what it is about me that is special." She could feel the tears continuing to stream from eyes, and with her back to the entrance, she continued to speak, unaware that Vincent had returned and was now standing in the doorway listening to her words.

"You told me that wisdom was more important than power, that poetry was more lasting than suffering. I didn't know what to believe then, but the first time we talked, you pointed to the books in Father's chamber, and said that if those writers were to have chosen not to write their works then you would have had one book less in your possession. You had to have been the one that took that poem and shared it with others. I know it; I feel it, and when I look around your chamber, I believe it."

Vincent was about to walk inside, but before he could approach her, she had turned around, her eyes filling with tears when she saw him standing before her. Unable to control her emotions, she began to cry and ran over to him, wrapping her arms as far around his waist as she could. "You have given me far more than I could have ever asked for," she said softly. "I was lost and alone in the world above, the pain was there, it was strong, but the friendship you gave me was stronger, and you gave me the courage and strength to go on even when I was ready to give up. Without your belief in me, I would never have come this far. I know it was you and Cathy that sent my poem to that contest, am I right?"

Vincent nodded as he wiped the tears from her eyes, "you won, didn't you?"

The tears continued to roll down her face as she nodded, "first prize."

Vincent released the hold he had on her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

She was still holding her notebook in one hand, but she walked past him and into Father's library. Approaching the bookshelf, she pulled one of the volumes down. It was the same book of Shakespeare's sonnets that she had held the day they met. "It may not be as good as this, but it will be real, and it will be more than just this simple school notebook. Just like you said, there really are people who do appreciate and understand my words."

"Yes, and just as you often wished, there are people who are touched by your words in the same way touched me."

"Your kindness has been the greatest gift I could have asked for. You said the first time we met that I might fear you because of the way you look, but how could I be afraid of someone as beautiful as you?" She looked up and into his eyes, "and although I know I have asked so much of you, I need to ask for your help one more time."

"What can I do?" he asked her gently.

"The people from the publishing company said I had to pick 50 poems from my entire work for the book, and I was wondering if you would help me select them," she said.

"What about your friend, Mike? Is he not deserving of such an honor?" Vincent asked.

"He was there when I learned the news, and he suspected that I hadn't sent the poem in. He said that I should ask you for the help because he doesn't understand the depth of my poetry the way I do," she said. "Vincent, he was relieved that I didn't ask him."

"Did you say anything else?" Vincent asked.

"No, I only said that my friends had done this, and that I was sorry I couldn't speak further because of a promise I had made. He respected that, and didn't press the issue. Then, he kissed me," Missy said and in her eyes he could see the indescribable joy she felt when she thought about Mike.

"Your first kiss, is it not?" Vincent asked.

Missy nodded. "It was, and then afterwards, we went out for ice cream, and he wants to take me to the movies tomorrow," she paused, but after some moments passed, she looked at him earnestly. "Vincent, please don't let me digress anymore, I really do need your help. They told me that I would have to have the poems selected by next week and I know I cannot do this all on my own. Will you help me?"

He hesitated for a moment, and could see the hope in her expression. He smiled down at her. "I will help you, but you must always remember your promise. No words of me, agreed?"

"I won't mention your name anywhere," she conceded her voice barely above a whisper, but he could easily tell that the tone of her voice was filled with misery. In the light, he could see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What is it, why do you cry?" he asked. "You should be happy, Missy."

"It just doesn't seem fair," she said wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her blouse. "You are the one that made it all possible. You're the one who should be recognized for it, not me."

"Missy, I have received all the acknowledgement I need, simply in your kind words, and your friendship. There exists nothing more to be said about what I have done. The book is your success; it is your dream. I would feel saddened if I was the reason you were feeling so unhappy. Now, you must find the joy in what it is you have achieved, and I share in your delight," he said gently.

"You are most noble person I have ever known in my life, Vincent. You are an inspiration for all who know you," she whispered hugging him. "I never thought I would be deserving of such a friend as you."

Vincent smiled and ruffled her hair. "Missy, though Father has said that you are not a part of our world here below, to me you will always be one of our children."

"You mean it?" she asked.

He nodded solemnly, but after some moments passed, he looked at her and spoke, this time changing the subject. "Now, you have asked me not to digress any further, and that you need my help, and that I intend to give. How much time do you have today?"

Missy looked down at her watch, "it's two o'clock now, and Mary did ask me to stay for dinner, so that gives us at least four hours before we eat. Then my dad said that he and my brothers are busy till really late tonight, so if we get started now, maybe we'll have most of them selected by the time I go back home," she said.

"Then give me your notebook and let us begin," he said and sat down at the table.

"Thank you," she whispered wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. "Thank you for making my dream come true."

He smiled without saying a word, and together, they opened the notebook.

* * *

As the afternoon progressed, Missy and Vincent sat undisturbed in his chamber and selected the best of the poems she had written. The themes of her work centered around love and friendship. One was dedicated to Mike, another to her mother. Vincent stood up and stretched himself out after a couple of hours at the table. He walked over to the trunk that was situated in the corner of his chamber. There he removed a small slip of paper from the top of the chest. He returned to the table and sat down. "I really like this one," Vincent said softly, "tell me what you think."

He handed the poem to her, and she looked down at the words. It was the poem Catherine had found the day Missy had met Vincent the first time. "But, I thought, I had thrown that one away."

"I know. You had. I remember when Catherine showed it to me," he said. "It was the evening after you and I had first met. She told me how she had found it on the floor in the large room in your school."

"What else did she say?" Missy asked.

"She said that she understood the words you had written, and..."

"...That you could have written them," Missy finished for him.

"Yes, but I also remember that day when you were hurt, and that sadness you felt, I could identify with. This poem brought all of us together when Catherine had read it," he said.

"I remember, that was the day that Father had intended on sending me away," Missy said sadly. "But, after Cathy read it, he apologized to me."

"M-hmm," he nodded. "Do you know why?"

"Because, he recognized that you could have written it," she said resting her hand on his arm. "Do you still feel lonesome, Vincent?"

"Presently, I do not, but you must not forget that everyone does at one time or another, it is a normal emotion," he said. "But, as you have learned, when a friend extends their hand to you, that act alone takes much of that isolation away."

Missy took the poem and laid it in the stack of the poems she wanted to use. "Then I know deep inside that I want this one to be in my book."

Vincent smiled at her approvingly and nodded. "You have learned a great deal in the short time we have known one another, and I am very proud of you."

Missy felt tears in her eyes upon hearing his words, but instead of reacting emotionally, she stood up and walked over to the bed. There she grabbed the pillow and threw it at him being careful not to upset any of the candles burning in the chamber.

"Why did you do that?" he asked once the pillow had reached its target and hit him against the side of the head.

"Because, when you tell me such things, it makes me weepy and then it takes an hour for me to get back on track," she said wiping her eyes and grinning at him. "We weren't going to digress, remember?"

"OK," he smiled at her as he returned the pillow to its place on the bed. "Besides, I believe you already knew that," He looked down at the poetry before him, it was time to get back to work.

* * *

When Missy returned to the apartment some hours later, she had all but three of the poems selected for the book. She smiled as she ascended the staircase that would lead to her apartment. For some reason, she found herself concentrating on what Vincent had said earlier that day. "Thank you, God, for sending them to me," she prayed, her eyes closing.

After some moments, she opened them and continued her ascent. Seconds later, she stopped in the stairwell once again, and contemplated these special people who had come to mean so much to her during the most difficult times in her life. Did there exist at all a way of thanking them without disclosing anything about them?

Without warning, inspiration struck and she began to climb the stairs two at a time until she reached the door to the apartment. She had it, Father, Vincent, and Catherine would be thanked, and only no one would know it except them. She knew what the remaining poems were going to be, or at least from where she was going to take them.

She fumbled with the keys until she came inside the apartment. Running through the living room and into her room, she placed the stack of poems she and Vincent had selected gently on the bed. She could see a hand-written copy of the poem she had given to Vincent on the top of the stack, and she knew that the title would remain as it was, for she was convinced that he must have selected the name for it.

She got down on her knees and pulled three folders out from under her bed. She had simply marked them, 'My Aslan'. These were the notebooks, which contained all of the poems she had written about her friends, and she had purposefully left them at home when she had gone to the tunnels earlier that day. She could not imagine using the space for the last three poems to fill with something else other than to honor the people who had made everything happen for her.

Wiping the tears from her face, she opened the notebook on the top. It contained about five or six poems that she had written for Father. As she turned the pages, a poem entitled 'The Leader' caught her eye. She had written this poem the day after she had met him, and she realized that though he was strong and stern, he was really a good man at heart. She removed it from the notebook, and placed it on top of the pile of poems she would soon publish. It could have been about anyone, a national leader, or a favorite political figure, but deep in her heart, the only person it could possibly have described was Father.

_The Leader_

_Carrying himself in splendor, the leader stands tall_

_He calls to his people, shouting "I am with you even when shadows fall."_

_His stern voice demands attention, but his heart is pure gold_

_A King Arthur persona in a modern day fold._

_The leader is one in a million, they say,_

_He does not lead in politics, but some other way_

_Giving more than taking, immeasurable love_

_He says war is nothing; we will follow that dove._

_The leader is not wealthy, nor is his power supreme _

_He is a normal personality, helping unselfishly_

_Offering food and giving shelter to a small hungry child_

_Maybe in this modern world, that may seem a bit mild._

_I know of a leader, he's not your typical man_

_What sets him apart is his persistence to make people understand_

_Why he feels bitterness about greed and cruelty_

_Is what makes him the true leader, one to see and believe._

She reread Father's poem, and started to ask herself if he would understand who she was referring to in it? The images were somewhat vague, and she knew the significance of this without saying too much about the place where he lived and those he protected. She hoped that it would come across in a way that would simply honor him.

As she reached for the notebook with the poetry she had for Catherine, she continued to contemplate whether or not what she was doing was truly enough.

Suddenly she remembered what Vincent had said in Father's chamber about friends and how it all was supposed to come from the heart. She remembered the conversation so vividly. It had been yesterday when she had brought the old clothing to them and Father had called her a 'helper'. She smiled as she looked down at the poetry she had written for Catherine. They would understand, she thought confidently, they just had to.

After some time had passed, she pulled one of her favorite poems from the notebook, and looked down at it. After meeting Catherine, she had thought for an instant how the caring woman seemed to carry the persona of an older sister. Missy recalled how immediately following their meeting that Catherine wanted to spend time with her. They had gone to the museum and then had spent the cold winter evenings together in her apartment reading poetry and talking over hot cups of tea.

For Missy, memories of her mother had come back to her, and though Catherine had not taken the place of her mother, she had managed to fill a gap that had existed within her ever since her mother had died.

_Older Sister_

_Calling from the hall, a voice breaks into my thoughts _

_Come on little sister I know you need to talk to me this night_

_You were sad and lonely today; your tears gave that away_

_Now please tell me what it is that is so hard for you to say._

_I will be there through the day, and offer help when shadows fall_

_But, you must not be afraid to seek my wisdom for anything at all._

_I give my promise to you, it's the most significant thing I do_

_Especially when you need me there to comfort you_

_Call to me and tell me what weighs heavily on your heart_

_And I will be there with you to lighten the burden and never from you to part_

_For that is my role, little sister, to guide and help you grow,_

_And this wish, which dwells in my heart, is something you should know._

Finally, Missy began to dig through the poetry she had written for Vincent. Why was his the most difficult to pick, she asked herself almost constantly? Perhaps it was due to the closeness she had with him. She remembered how she had been terrified of him the first day they had met, and how regardless of her fear of him, he had offered her his unconditional security and friendship.

Next, she remembered how he had held her that day she had been bullied at school, how he had comforted her in her sadness, and encouraged her to speak of her experiences no matter how horrible they might have been. He reminded her on so many occasions how much a friendship is an honor and a gift.

Finally, she remembered sitting in his chamber earlier that day, how sad she had been that she couldn't adequately thank him for what he had done for her. This, if anything, had been weighing heavily on her heart even after she had left the tunnels that evening. She had even pondered it throughout the supper she had enjoyed with the people of Vincent's community.

There must be a way, she thought sadly. Perhaps a way to thank him without anyone knowing that it was him she was thanking. She remembered how he had reminded her of Aslan from the Chronicles of Narnia and how he had told her he was not this character, but she had said that his kindness and wisdom were the somehow the same.

Her mind continued to wander as she recalled that particular conversation and after some time had passed, she pulled one of the poems from Vincent's folder out and looked down at the writing on the page. It was one of her favorites, filled with the thoughts and dreams of a lonely child.

No one would see the images she had written, of that she was convinced, and in all the classes where people are taught to interpret poetry, no one would be able to determine what this poem was really about or who that 'Treasured Friend' really was. Vincent would know, and perhaps Father and Catherine as well, but no one else would even identify whom it was she was describing. The images were all vague, but yet, the friends she treasured would know, they would always know.

_Treasured Friend_

_You walk with a beauty none can compare_

_With a heart ever steadfast it comforts those that are weak_

_Standing strong even when life is shadowed with gloom_

_You comfort and hold those as they drown in despair._

_If the world could only see you, standing among them_

_They would surely see the splendor in your poetic soul _

_As you have seen the wonder that dwells in the heart of mankind_

_But yet, you remain sheltered in the shadows of a darkened night._

_Are you real or are you a vision coming from my soul_

_Is your face merely an illusion created by my own fantasies?_

_Or are you as authentic as a rainbow or the bright setting sun_

_I whisper your name and look for your silhouette among the shadows._

_You speak to me saying fear not, little one, I will protect you_

_For the storm outside will soon end and you will see the sun rise once again_

_But for now, just know that you are worthy of all the good that comes,_

_And no one possesses the power to take that away._

_I look for you always, in the stars and sunshine_

_I whisper your name when I am lonely and afraid_

_My Aslan, I once called you, the images of one lonely child_

_But you were always there giving me the courage to hold on another day._

_You reminded me always that in this world, the story is untold_

_Of knights on their stallions and books about kings_

_But of all the rare stories and the gifts I have seen_

_Nothing will outshine the beauty within you, my treasured friend._

_

* * *

The end, part 1, stay tuned for part 2.   
_


	8. Part 2 Chapter 1

_Thanks to Onlyaman for the nice comments and review on part one, and thanks to all of you for reading. I will address this concern because I think it is a valid one. When I was in school, I knew kids who were what one could call prodigies, that is people who were gifted in certain areas. I don't believe that this sort of gift is just in natural sciences, but also in the creative arts, writing and music. I knew of kids who could really write like crazy, and I admire them, so this story is simply pushing that creative envelope a little. The poems themselves, I wrote, and I'm 30 something, so this is really a test on a reader's fantasy.  
_

_Whether you view it as realisitc or utter nonsense, I am of the mindset that anything's possible, so this is just a part of that, but I do appreciate you reading and letting me know if you enjoy it or suggestions for improvement. :)

* * *

_**  
**

**Part 2**

**Chapter 1 **

It had been two months since Missy had been to the tunnels, two months since she had sat in the middle of Vincent's chamber selecting the poetry for her book. Now, the book had gone to print, and had been released earlier that week. However, since the announcement, she had become an instant celebrity, only because of her age. Her dream had come true, but now she was overwhelmed and longed to fade back into the shadows of obscurity. She was happy that she could walk into a bookstore and see her book on the shelf, but at the same time, she felt unsafe to return to her friends, and this feeling seemed to stay with her no matter what she did.

Two copies of her book she had put away hoping to one day take them to the tunnels and give them to Vincent and Father. She held a third copy for Catherine, but in the back of her mind, she wondered if Catherine had managed to get copies of the book herself and take them to the tunnels.

She often wondered if Vincent would even remember that she had once been called a 'helper' and she constantly pondered if she would be accepted as a part of that wonderful world beneath the streets of New York again. Often she believed somehow that she had been snapped up from that wonderful feeling of belonging and then plunged headfirst into a whole different existence.

Whatever the case, she wanted to go back, and it saddened her that she could not. She often found herself speaking to the stillness of her lonely room at night, "Vincent, I have not forgotten you, and I hope you have not forgotten me. I want to see you again, but I know in my heart with all that has happened, I cannot."

Everywhere she went, people would stop her and begin to ask her questions about her work, why she had written which poems, and what the meanings behind them were. She would go to school, and the people who had once treated her so shabbily were now acting as though they were her best friends. She had gotten revenge on the unkind people, but instead of leaving her alone, they were now playing on this superficial celebrity status she had attained trying only to capture some for themselves.

One of the nice things, she realized was that if she were to see someone being treated in an unkind way, she did not have to think twice about getting involved in their plight. Although the bullies had stopped their torment on her, she could not tolerate to see others treated in the same way she had been and two of the girls Missy had become friends with had also been treated as scapegoats in school. She essentially felt more comfortable with these two girls than with the other kids in the school.

Even today, almost two months later, she could never forget what had happened that day when Herbert Ross and Rachel Summer had shown up at her school and announced that she had won the contest. Reporters from the local television stations as well as newspaper photographers had shown up, pictures snapping away as people asked her what she wanted to do or why it was that a 12-year-old was so deeply interested in Shakespeare.

After this, Suzy, of all people had invited her into her social circle, but Missy had declined, saying that she found Suzy's turnabout to be somewhat hypocritical. Today, Suzy tried in every way she could to somehow become a part of Missy's popularity, but instead, she turned out to be an annoyance. Missy had known from the start that Suzy was only interested in the celebrity aspect, that the person inside did not really matter and she tried desperately to distance herself from all of the people in this clique. However, this had turned out to be almost an impossible task, because not even her teachers seemed willing to give her any peace.

The school newspaper wanted to do a story about her, and even in the library where she used to spend a great deal of time, had suddenly become taboo for her. The librarian who had always seemed perturbed by her frequent visits, had insisted that she sign the lending copy of her book. Missy had done this, but then suddenly, whenever she would go into the library, she would be inundated with questions about her poems. The only bright side to the whole thing was when she would go and see how many people had actually checked it out.

Her life had changed drastically; for the most part it had been completely turned upside down. Only one change had been worthwhile, she and Mike were now going steady. In all of the events that had taken place during the past two months, Missy had started to become somewhat disheartened with the entire recognition and longed for things to be as they were before.

She remembered when she had told Vincent how much she had wanted to be cool, and to be respected, but now that people did, she knew that it was for all the wrong reasons. How she longed to go back and see Vincent, but with all the publicity that was now surrounding her, she knew it was no longer safe for him, if she were to venture back to the tunnels again. She missed Father and Vincent more and more with each passing day and even her poetry themes had all started to become rather heartrending.

Mike had, by this time, grown so concerned for her, that he longed to discover what it was behind his girlfriend's misery.

"I miss my friends, Mike," she confided in him that afternoon. "I haven't seen them in over two months, and I sense that I have somehow neglected them. I sometimes worry that I have turned away from them because of the book, and I feel shame for having done it."

"What can I do to help?" he asked. "I know you have harbored some sort of secret from me since the day we met, and I really want to help you, but I wish that you would trust me enough to tell me what's going on and why it is you are so unhappy."

"I wish I could," she said softly and suddenly, she could see the corner of an envelope sticking out of her purse. "Mike, if I were to give you a letter, would you take it to my friend Cathy for me?"

"I'll do whatever you want me to do," he said, "if it will make you feel better."

"Thank you," she said softly and she handed him the sealed envelope.

* * *

Vincent sat in his chamber, his eyes focused on the book before him. He could hear the sounds of the children's voices resonating throughout the tunnels. As he tried to concentrate on the book, he found himself unable to enjoy the poetry as he had often done in the past. He got up and pushed the book away.

Father came in some moments later. "Vincent?"

"Yes, Father, what is it?" he asked.

"I can't help but notice that ever since Missy's book was published, you have been increasingly gloomy," Father said softly. "I know you believed in her, but you should be happy that she has finally found her place up there."

"I still believe in her, you know I always will," he said. "But, I also know something must be keeping her away. Father, Missy is not the kind of person who would forget her friends."

"You know how it is up there, Vincent," Father said gently. "Money and fame, it has its way of changing people."

"Yes that much I understand, but I also know that she's not like the others," Vincent said. "Catherine always knew this, and she also knows that to me, Missy..." his voice trailed.

"Is like a daughter to you," Father finished.

Vincent nodded as he reached inside his pocket and pulled a small slip of paper out.

"Is that the poem she gave you?" Father asked knowing full well that it was.

"Yes," he said and looked down at the slip of paper before folding it once again and returning it to his pocket.

"Perhaps it is time for you to let go," Father suggested. "You have done all that you are able for this child. Now it is time for her to determine her own fate."

Vincent shook his head. "I know you wish to help, but I cannot. Not yet," he paused and turned towards the man who raised him. "Father, did you find a copy of her book yet?"

"No, not yet," Father said. "It seems where ever I go, it's sold out."

Vincent sighed looking down at the table where he sat. "Catherine hasn't heard anything either, but she said that the book did come out earlier this week," he said softly.

"I know," Father said as he took a rolled up newspaper from under his arm and placed it on the table. "There's another story about Missy inside, one of the helpers brought it to me this morning. I didn't want to show it to you, but I started thinking that maybe you should read it. It might make you feel better."

Vincent picked up the newspaper and looked down at it, after a moment passed, overcome with hurt, he threw the object across the room, roaring. "I can't read anymore about her!" Father backed against the door; he could see the pain in his son's face.

"I'm sorry, Vincent, I was only trying to help," Father said softly.

"I know you were," Vincent replied his voice lowering considerably. "Please, just give me a little more time to work through all of this."

"OK," Father finally relented. "You have to do what is right for you."

"Thank you," Vincent sat down at the table once again.

* * *

Mike stood in the center of the subway station. It was late in the afternoon as he studied the map trying to find the street address for this Catherine Chandler. Her name was neatly written on the outside of the envelope and he wondered who she was, and what it was about this woman that would make Missy want to keep this all a secret from him.

He was tempted to rip open the envelope and read what Missy had written, but before he could actually follow through with these intentions, he could hear his train pulling up to the platform. He returned the envelope to his pocket, folded the map, and approached the subway car, opening the door and climbing aboard.

Two stations later, he got off the train and walked through the station and up the stairs.

Out on the street, there were many people walking all of them seemed to have a place to go. The tall buildings looking the same as in the neighborhood where he lived with his family. Without the map, he would be lost in this maze of streets and buildings. No trees or nature was around him, the bustling and the yellow taxis honking as they wove through the streets of the city.

This is like another world, he thought to himself as he remembered the wide-open spaces of the Texas prairie. He was grateful with the thought that the following morning he would be boarding a plane and going back to Paris to visit his grandparents for the Easter holidays, but all the while, he couldn't help but think about Missy being alone for the ten days that he would be gone.

He glanced down at the map trying to match the streets with Catherine's address.

Twenty minutes later, he managed to find the building. He walked up and inside the lobby. He approached the mailboxes reading the names on each set of them. Upon finding the one marked Chandler, C., he opened the flap and was about to drop the letter inside her mailbox and be on his way. Sighing deeply, his curiosity suddenly got the better of him, and he stubbornly returned the envelope to his pocket. He opted instead to take the elevator up and deliver the message personally. He believed somehow that if he could find and meet Catherine personally, maybe he could discover what it was that had been eating Missy alive. He stepped inside the elevator and rode up to floor of Catherine's apartment. When he reached the door, he rang the bell.

Moments later, the door swung open and he was face to face with a pretty woman dressed in a business suit. "Yes?"

"Are you Cathy Chandler?" he asked.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" she asked.

"My name is Mike Ross, I'm a friend of Missy Parks, she asked me to bring this to you," he said handing her the letter. Catherine could tell that the letter had not yet been opened, and she guessed that through Mike, Missy was trying to make long-overdue contact with her. It was also apparent that from looking at Mike, the boy was worried.

"Why don't you come inside, and we'll talk?" she said stepping back from the door so that he could enter.

He nodded and came inside. Once she had closed the door, she led him to the living room and they sat down. Mike looked around the spacious room and after a moment, he spoke, "Missy had not mentioned you before, so it came as a surprise that she had actually asked me to bring that note to you."

Catherine nodded and opened the letter. Quickly, she read what Missy had written and when she had finished, she returned it to the envelope, nodding as she looked at Mike. "You're worried about her, aren't you?" she asked gently.

He nodded and began to speak, "when all this started, I supported her and maybe in some ways, sorta egged it on. I had no idea that it would get this crazy, but this instant fame stuff is getting to Missy. I can tell simply by looking at her. Every time we walk outside, she becomes somewhat unglued with the whole business. People actually follow her, reporters shout out questions at her, and I know that all she wants to do is feel like she can walk down the street without being pestered, but she can't." Sighing deeply he continued to speak, "In case you're wonderin', I didn't know anything about you before today, and I certainly don't know anything about these friends of hers, but I do know that you're important to her."

"Is that why you came?" she asked.

He nodded, "she's scared, Ms. Chandler, I don't understand why, but she is, and she won't talk to me about it. All I can remember is something she said months ago about a promise she made, but that promise seems to be eatin' her alive. I've tried everything to get her to talk to me, but she won't. I told her she could trust me, but she has remained unwilling to talk to me about it. It's like this promise has become more important than trust."

"Perhaps this promise is centered around trust," Catherine said softly. "It is not easy for someone to hold something inside, and someone who is only 12 years old."

Mike nodded, "I know what you're saying, and I understand. My own concern is for Missy. She told me today, 'I miss my friends'. I told her I'd do anything for her that I could, and then she gave me this letter and asked me to bring it to you." He stood up and looked outside the through the balcony window. "I think she knows that I'd do whatever she asks of me, but I don't understand any of this. Why is a friendship something to be kept a secret? I always thought that I'd shout it from the highest mountain when I found a true friend."

Catherine stood up, walked over to him, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Mike, I cannot tell you why Missy has made this promise, I can only thank you for respecting her feelings and trying to do for her whatever it takes to make things easier. But, you must not believe that she doesn't trust or care for you, because she does. All I can say is that sometimes we do things for our friends without thinking of the impact it leaves on us."

Mike shook his head, "I know, but the problem is, I don't know if what I'm doing is for her, or for me."

"What does your heart tell you?" she asked.

"To respect her wishes, but also to try and find her friends. I mean, she needs them, probably even more than she needs me," he said as he brushed his hands through his hair.

Catherine could have sworn that she had seen tears in his eyes, and she looked at him sympathetically. "Mike, give me some time, and let me see if there is anything I can do for her, but don't believe that she doesn't need you. It is through all this that has happened in the last months, that she needs you now more than ever."

"I'll try to remember that," he said. "I only hope that there's someone to take care of her while I'm away. My family leaves tomorrow for ten days back home."

Catherine smiled, "Mike, I can't make any promises, but if you will allow me, I can tell her friends what you have said. It might help."

"Sure, what can it hurt?" he said softly as he walked slowly towards the door. "Besides, I'm kinda used to bein' left in the dark anyway. Whatever the case, thanks for the chat, Ms. Chandler." The bitterness in his voice did not escape her, but unable to speak, she watched as he opened the door, walked through it, closing it behind him, and leaving her standing alone in the living room.

Out in the hallway, he walked towards the elevator and pressed the button. When the elevator did not promptly come, he opened the door to the stairwell and walked slowly down the stairs. When he reached the lobby, he walked towards the exit, opened the door, and stepped outside. On the street, he walked back in the direction of the subway station.

As he watched the people around him, he suddenly could feel the isolation Missy had experienced before he had come to New York. He knew it was futile to even hope that Catherine would be able to shed any light on this.

Shaking his head, he walked solemnly down the steps and into the subway. He could hear the sounds of the trains jarring the silence of his contemplations as he walked.


	9. Part 2 Chapter 2

**Part 2**

**Chapter 2**

Once Catherine saw Mike leaving her building, she grabbed her jacket and put it on. There was no time to loose; she had to get this letter to Vincent. Although the envelope had been addressed to her, the letter inside was for Vincent and Catherine knew that he would want to see what Missy had written and that she really did care about him. Snatching the note from off the coffee table, she stuck it in her pocket, grabbed her key, and left the apartment quickly.

Down in the basement of the building, she walked towards the ladder that would lead down into the tunnels. As she descended the ladder, she remembered the first time she had taken Missy down with her, and how the young girl had initially been afraid. Her thoughts shifted and she began to reflect on how touching it had been for her to watch the girl hold tightly to Vincent and plead with him to allow her to stay. Catherine herself often wondered if she would ever be able to make such a request.

When she reached Vincent's chamber she could see him sitting at the table huddled over a book. "Vincent," she called out, her voice soft as it resonated through the chamber.

Vincent stood up and turned around, "Catherine, what are you doing here?" He went to her and wrapped his arms around her holding tightly to her.

She could feel that he was troubled, and she reached up and touched his face with her fingertips once their hug loosened. Her free hand was still holding the upper part of his arm, and she could feel his sadness, his usual strength beginning to waver under the caress of her hand. "What is it that has made you so sad?"

"Father said that I must let go, so I believe I must try," he said once their embrace ended.

"Vincent, does your pain, have anything to do with Missy?" she asked.

He turned away from her, but she could see the sorrow in his eyes as he did. He walked over to the table where he had been reading. "I do not know; I have been unable to concentrate on anything these last days, Catherine. I feel lost and alone."

"Then read this," she said and pulled the envelope from her pocket. "There is someone else who feels the same way you do."

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a letter from Missy that I think you should read," Catherine said softly. "I think it just might lighten the burden you are feeling."

Vincent hesitantly accepted the envelope she carried, opened it, pulled the letter out, unfolded the pages and began to read. As he read, the relief washed over his face, and she could tell that the words of their friend were treasured. By the time he had reached the end, however, the frustration he felt had turned into concern.

Seconds later, he handed the letter to Catherine and indicated that she too should read it. After a moment's hesitation, she looked down and began to read Missy's flowing script.

_Dear Vincent,_

_I am writing to you today because I have never in my life felt as forlorn as I do now. I cannot forget the day we met and how much your friendship has honored me. Now, I feel as though I have somehow forgotten you, though deep in my heart, it would never happen and I would wish more than anything that you would still see me as your friend and one of the helpers in your beautiful world. That title alone holds far more significance to me than how much I possess materially._

_Everywhere I go, every time I turn around, someone is asking me about the book or the poetry, many of these questions I have long since grown tired of answering. Please, don't get me wrong; I am grateful for the book and the chances that have opened up to me. I see my future as being paved out for me, but I also see how many false friends have come knocking at my door. All of them, trying to take a part of my dignity away imploring me that they are truly my friends, but they are the same people who had robbed me of my self-respect when I was considered a nobody. My only wish is to hold tightly to those who have supported me both in success and disappointment. The people who are really important to me; Cathy, Mike, and Father, but especially YOU._

_I know Mike is worried about me. He has seen me grow sadder and sadder in the days that have passed and I know he wants to help, but he does not know how. Nevertheless, through it all, I have kept my word to you and Father._

_I am scared, Vincent, so terribly frightened, because I know it is far too risky for me to journey to see you, even though I long to more than anything else in the world. Please, I beg you to forgive me for my silence. A day has not passed when I did not think of you and I would give it all back to see you again, even if it is only for five minutes. You have been far more than my friend; you have been my father figure, as well as my teacher._

_I miss you terribly, I wish only to remember how you believed in me, and though I appreciate all that I have accomplished, I realize that it was only through your faith in me that any of it was made possible._

_Love,_

_Missy_

Vincent looked up once he had finished reading the letter. "I want to see her," he said. "I realize now why I could not let go of her, she needs me. It was the false friends you feared that has isolated her far more than she was before. Perhaps we did her a disservice by sending her poetry to that contest. Her book has been her dream, but in many ways, it has also become a two-edged sword," he paused before speaking further, "Catherine, make contact with her as soon as you are able. Take her to your apartment tomorrow evening, I will come to her then."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"You have read her letter, there can be no other way," he said gently.

"Do you think she has perceived these risks accurately?" Catherine asked.

"Father brought me a newspaper earlier today, another article about Missy was inside. Though I did not read it, I know she believes that it is unsafe for her to come here," he paused. "Yes, I think she does understand that there is an existing danger, and it touches me deeply that she would sacrifice herself to save us all."

"I will do as you ask, but should I tell her that she will get to see you?" Catherine asked.

"No, say nothing to her about me, it might frighten her if she were to know I would be there. Perhaps, in knowing this, she would draw into herself even more as a way of protecting me," he said.

"Yes, I think she would," Catherine said softly.

"Don't worry, Catherine, everything will happen as it should," he said.

"I know, but there's something else that is kind of bothering me about this. It's her friend, Mike," Catherine began. "He brought the letter to me, and we talked for a few minutes before I came here. He seemed embittered by the fact that Missy has withheld all of this from him. I know, he cares for her deeply, it is apparent in his words and actions. The other thing is he does as she asks because she is special to him, but I think it hurts him that she will not talk to him about you or Father."

"Did he read the letter?"

"No, he brought it to me, but he did not open it," Catherine answered. "I am rather surprised that he did not, but I suppose it was out of respect for her that prevented this."

Vincent nodded, but still holding the page in his hand, he turned away, "I'm sorry, right now there is nothing I can do to help him," he said.

"What should I do if I speak to him again?" she asked.

"I do not know, follow your heart, Catherine, it will not lead you astray," he said softly.

Catherine nodded and reached out to him, holding tightly to him, trying to somehow feel the internal strength he always seemed to give her when she needed it most.

* * *

"Miss Parks, do you have a minute to answer some questions?" a reporter who had been standing near the front door of the apartment building asked as Missy came up the steps that same afternoon.

"I suppose," she said softly.

"I have read your book, and I think your writing is wonderful," the man said.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Are you sure I'm not bothering you, I could always come back later?" he asked causing her to look up. He was nothing like the usual reporters that had hounded her during the past weeks. Something compelled her to take a good look at him. He had pale green eyes and dark brown hair, and stood about six feet tall. He seemed to be about 30 years old, and was holding a small tape recorder in one hand, a copy of her book in the other.

"Why don't you come up, it looks like rain?" she said smiling weakly as she looked at the sky.

"If it isn't too much trouble," he said. "My name is Andy Hudson, I work for the literary magazine 'Expression'."

She shook hands with the young reporter and opened the door.

As they walked up the stairs and into the apartment, she tossed her backpack onto the sofa and turned to face him. "Make yourself at home, I'm going to get something to drink, would you like anything?"

"No, thanks," he said smiling as he sat down on the sofa. Internally, he thought a tea would have been nice, but he did not wish to overstay his welcome.

When she returned, she sat down across from him, a glass of lemonade in her hand. "So, what would you like to know?"

"Well, first, off the record. Why did you invite me up?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, "I guess cause you seem different from the other people who have interviewed me."

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, in the last two months, since the announcement came down..."

"Do you mind if I tape this?"

"No," she said and began again once he had started recording their conversation. "Since the announcement came down, I have been asked so many questions, and often the people asking have been rude and obtrusive. They have written more into my words than what was there, and they have tried to ask me for meanings that I wish not to discuss. You seem different is all; somehow more gentle."

Andy shifted, "thank you. I'm really glad that you agreed to this interview. I must tell you, I started at the magazine some two weeks ago, I'm new there, and this story is my first assignment. I didn't want to come across trying to impose on you, but I also knew that my editor would not be pleased if I showed up at your building and had no chance to speak to you."

Missy smiled weakly at his apparent honesty. "I wouldn't wish to get you into any kind of trouble, so I guess I'm ready to answer your questions."

Andy cleared his throat. "First of all, I really appreciate that you are talking to me, and I want you to know right off that this is not about what the meanings of your work is, it's about you, the person," Andy began. "I want to make clear that you are not obligated to answer any questions if you feel uncomfortable, OK?"

She nodded.

"How did you get started writing?" he asked.

"I was 9-years-old at the time. My mother had died when I was 5 and I wanted to honor her memory somehow. So, I started writing poetry about her, all the memories I had of her came out in the verses I wrote. Then when things started getting bad at school, I discovered that I had started writing about everything that I felt was significant; loneliness, heartbreak, love, friendship, just about any topic that touched me," she answered.

"Did it help you?" he asked.

"Yes it did," Missy began. "I found solace in writing, found it to be addictive in some ways. I would get inspired in strange places, and have to stop whatever it was I was doing and write."

"Do you write about specific people or emotions?"

"I write about both, but mostly my poems are centered around emotional ties I have with either people or ideas," she answered. "To say that one person or idea inspires me is absurd, because I can be inspired by abstract things like a rainbow or a sandy beach. I suppose it's how one looks at things."

"You mentioned school, how were things for you at school?" Andy asked.

"The poetry I had kept to myself until I started junior high last year. When I tried to share it, I suddenly became the outcast, pushed around and insulted, treated as though I had no feelings or didn't belong. It was hard, the other kids called me 'Missy the sissy' believing that their words gave them power over me. I realized some time ago, that they did not because I refused to allow it to happen. But, these words hurt more than a fist ever could, because they scarred my spirit, leaving me to feel insignificant and humiliated. I was lonely much of the time, only spending my afternoons trying to find peace in writing, all the while searching..."

"Searching? What were you searching for?" Andy asked.

"A friend, a true friend, someone who would understand the pain I was in, and would accept me for the person I am," she answered.

"Did you ever find that?"

"Yes, but don't want to elaborate, as this publicity is bad enough for me, I could not subject my friends to it by naming names," she said softly hoping her blunt answer would not offend him.

"The poem '_Treasured Friend'_, was that written for what you had found?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly but said nothing more. She reached for her glass and took a sip of her lemonade all the while, waiting for his next question.

"It's a beautiful piece, and if one person could call me their Aslan, then I would be deeply honored," he said, and cleared his throat. From looking at her, he knew that he would not get any further comments on this particular poem. "OK, next question, what do you enjoy besides writing?"

"I love poetry, not just writing it, but reading it. If I could write only one percent as good as Shakespeare, I would be ecstatic," she said. "I used to read his sonnets when I was lonely, and I found that if I read them, then if I was sad, I would feel happy, but if I was happy, I would feel joy."

"It's not often that one so young can see such depth in Shakespeare, how did this come about?" he asked.

"I don't really know, I guess it started when I had seen _A Mid-Summer Night's Dream_ with my family," she grinned sheepishly. "My dad had said something about taking my older brothers to see it, and I had wanted to go too. He then said that it might be dull for me because I probably wouldn't be able to understand it. I started wondering if it was possible for a nine-year-old to comprehend it, so I went to the library and checked it out. It took me days to read it, but then right before my father went and got the tickets, I went and told him what it was about, and he was shocked," she paused smiling at the memory. "Later, I started reading the sonnets, and other plays, and through them, I got into other poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Frost, and so on."

"Who is your favorite, besides Shakespeare?" Andy asked.

"It's kind of hard to answer that, there are so many good poets. I think Robert Frost, because I love the poem _The Road Not Taken_."

"Why is that?"

"I guess it's because, I have chosen that road less traveled by. I know what it feels like to be different, and sometimes it's hard and it hurts. I have seen things through both sides. I was once considered an outcast because of who I am; and now I am walking among false friends because I have suddenly become popular. In all honestly, I cannot determine which is worse," she answered.

"Please elaborate," he asked, quickly becoming entranced with her words.

"My wish would be to walk undisturbed down the street, to see my boyfriend smiling and waving to me at the other end, and not see people trailing behind him with the hopes of asking me the meaning behind my work. Imagine not being able to go and see your friends because you feel deep in your heart, that though your dream has come true, you cannot impose on them the attention they do not crave. It has been two months since I learned that my poem had won the contest through Varient Publishers, and though I am overjoyed that I have the chance to write professionally, I have found a deeper loneliness in my heart, because those who hurt me when I was down, are now knocking at my door hoping to taste this superficial celebrity that seems to have encompassed me," she paused and looked up. "I do not want to come across arrogant, but every person in this world needs to know that a friend will stick by them through all times, not kick them when they are down, only to come back later and wish to help them back to their feet when times are good." She took another sip of the lemonade.

"You have pretty much had your fill of fair-weathered friends, haven't you?"

"Yeah, they used to tease me, calling me names. One boy tripped me in the cafeteria, and then the same day this other person caused me to have a bloody nose in the middle of a kickball game in gym class. Afterwards, I was too embarrassed to talk about it, but then one of my real friends said to me that it was important that I realize that a friendship is an honor and that he would stand by me no matter what happened. He was there for me during some of the most painful parts of my life and he accepted me even though I was an outcast," she paused. "After the announcement came down, those people who had humiliated me suddenly came to me and wanted to be my friends, but they never were, they were friends with this so-called 'celebrity status' but not with me, not ever with me."

"What would you like to tell the readers?"

"To accept people and not base it on appearance or status, but rather, what is in here, in one's heart," as if by impulse, she put her hand over her heart. "I have tried in the last months to be a friend, and to help those who are faced with the same thing I was. One never knows what will happen in the future, today's outcast might be tomorrow's celebrity," she paused. "Those people who teased me need to learn that strength is not measured in how many people they can shove around, or how popular one is, but it is measured in the heart and how many people are really there when they need them."

Andy nodded as he turned off the tape recorder.

"I think this has been the most fulfilling interview I have ever conducted," he said. "You give people a lot of food for thought," he said extending his hand to her. "If I could have my way, I would post your interview tomorrow. Unfortunately, it's going to take some time, at least a month before our next issue will hit the stands."

"I enjoyed this interview, too," she said honestly. "Thank you, Mr. Hudson."

"Please, call me Andy," he said quickly and fished his card out of his pocket. "If you have anything further to say, feel free to call me. I will come back so you can see the transcript before this goes to print, OK? We're going to work together on this, I won't betray your trust."

"Thank you, you've been very kind," she said and went to open the door. Once the reporter was gone, she sighed deeply. Too bad this couldn't come out tomorrow, she thought to herself sadly as she tossed the card onto the table. If it could, then I might be able to actually see the light at the end of this tunnel.


	10. Part 2 Chapter 3

_a/n: Thanks to Onlyaman for the great reviews and the suggestions. I'm hoping that as you read this story further that you'll see the significance of the characters I created for it. I hope you all enjoy it._

**

* * *

Part 2**

**Chapter 3**

The following afternoon, Missy came out of the school building to see Catherine's car parked on the opposite side of the street. She wondered initially if it belonged to her friend or if this particular car was simply a look-a-like. But, when she glanced back over in that direction, she could see her friend getting out of the car, and she wondered what it was that Catherine wanted.

On an adjacent street, she turned her head to see two women approaching the school. She had seen them before, they were reporters, and had been at the school each day that week. She had been with Mike during those times, but today Mike had not been in school. He had flown back to Texas with his family for the spring holidays that morning.

The two women had spotted her and were now walking towards her. "Why can't I just have some peace?" she muttered to herself. She was afraid to go to Catherine, because Vincent was on her mind, and she feared that contact would draw unnecessary attention, not only to Catherine, but also eventually to Vincent, thus breaking her promise. As the two reporters came closer, it became clear to her that she had to either go to Catherine or face these two persistent reporters. Both options seemed impossible, but after some moments of hesitation, she broke into a run, and quickly crossed the street to meet her friend.

"Hi Missy," Catherine said gently once the girl had reached where she was standing. "How are you?"

"Tired," Missy said softly ducking quickly behind Catherine. "Can you get me out of here?"

Catherine turned around slightly and could now see the reporters approaching, the smile fading from her lips as they came closer. She positioned herself directly between the two women and Missy. "Can I help you?" she asked in a no-nonsense voice and Missy could tell that her friend had just gone into DA mode.

"We want to speak to Missy," one of the women said. "The principal gave us permission to come on campus."

"I see," Catherine said rubbing her chin as though in apt contemplation. "And, what about Missy, did she give the permission for you to interview her, or is it just because she is 12, that she has suddenly lost her right to having an afternoon of peace and quiet?" She asked somewhat indignantly.

"We're interested in her poetry and would like to ask for some interpretations," the second woman said.

Catherine turned back to Missy, who shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it," she whispered to her friend.

Catherine nodded, reaching for Missy's hand and squeezing it. She turned back to face the two women. "I'm sorry, but she doesn't want to grant you an interview, and next time you want to talk to her, perhaps you should ask her directly if she would be willing to do so and not go to a third party to make the decision for her."

"And who are you?" the first woman demanded.

"My name is Catherine Chandler, I'm her lawyer as well as her friend," she looked pointedly at the two women. She did not like to lie, but she was at this point at the end of her nerves, and she only wanted to get Missy out of the area. She nodded to the girl, "go ahead and get in, I'll take care of this."

Missy did as Catherine asked, gratitude evident in her face. She opened the door to the passenger side and got in, once she was inside, she quickly closed the door, but continued to watch the events taking place outside.

Catherine, had by this time, turned back to face the two women who were standing there. "I don't know if you can tell, but Missy has no strength left to do an interview, she's exhausted. During the last two months, she has done nothing but answer questions. She has been cordial and kind, offering honest answers, but also trying to protect her own privacy," she said. "I don't even know too many adults who could have handled things as well as she has done."

"Yes, but these answers are important to the literary world," one woman said.

"The literary world, or your own personal world?" Catherine spat out. "I know your types, you don't care about the person, all you care about is getting the good story, but it never matters how many people you hurt or how many toes you step on." She sighed deeply and looked at the woman, her eyes demanding their attention. "Do either of you have children?"

"Yes, I have a son," the second woman answered.

"And how would your son feel if he was being hounded by the press the way you're hounding Missy Parks?" Catherine asked.

"This is irrelevant, he's only in diapers," the woman answered.

"Yes, but children do grow, and whether you want to accept it or not, Missy Parks is still a child, and she wants to do the things normal children do. If she doesn't want to give anymore interviews then you must respect her wishes, and let her live out her childhood in peace."

The women turned and faced each other, after a second, they shrugged their shoulders and walked slowly back across the street towards the door leading inside the school.

Once Catherine saw that they were gone, she sighed deeply, turned and walked around the car and got in.

"What did you tell them?" Missy asked once Catherine had closed the door.

"The truth. I told them that you're suffering from exhaustion," Catherine said softly.

Missy looked down, "I thought I was supposed to only be grateful for this...for the book and that I had to talk to them because it was a part of it..."

"Missy, take this advice from a fellow career oriented woman, regardless of what you do professionally, you can only take so much. You're a writer, but you are not under any sort of obligation to become a toy for the press. I know how brutal they can be, in fact, so does Vincent. I've seen the articles that people have written about you, and from knowing you, I know about half of this so called 'fact' is opinion that should never have gone to print. I guess now we both know how damaging these kind of reporters can be," she paused as she looked at Missy. "I should have come to see you sooner, I'm sorry I didn't."

Missy nodded, "I gave what I hope to be my last interview yesterday, and I got to say some of the things I have wanted to say since this started, but I don't know if it will be enough. The interviewer was very kind, but I doubt it will change much because this article will not come out for probably another month," she said softly.

"It hasn't been easy for you, has it?" Catherine asked.

Missy shook her head and looked at Catherine, the look on her face depicted the most intense despair. "How are Vincent and Father?" she finally asked weakly.

"They're doing well," Catherine said gently. "They speak of you often."

"I miss them," she said softly.

"I know."

Missy looked down at her lap as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks. "Why did you tell those reporters that you were my lawyer?"

"Well," Catherine said smiling guiltily, "they sort of provoked me."

"Yeah, but you're a DA," Missy offered as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Well, they didn't know that, besides, it was the only way I could think of to get them to leave you alone," she said. "I used to work in a large law firm, though, so I think I could represent you. If not, then I have contacts, so if this does get to be too obtrusive, just say the word, and we'll battle them in a courtroom."

Missy smiled slightly wondering if her friend was joking or being serious. She decided that it must be a joke, and she looked at Catherine. "Mike called me last night and said that he brought you my letter."

"Yes, he came by yesterday and dropped it off," Catherine said.

"Is that why you're here today?" Missy asked as she nervously looked out the window. Catherine knew this look all too well; Missy was paranoid of the possibility that they were being followed. This suddenly brought back the conversation she had had with Mike the day before and she glanced up and looked in the rearview mirror. Behind them, maintaining a safe distance was a blue Cadillac. She noticed how it had been following them for some time, and when she pulled up to a light, she got a better look at the driver.

It was, in fact, one of the two women who had confronted them at the school. In the passenger seat, Catherine could see the second woman. She sighed deeply and when she could see the familiar building where she worked, she pulled the car to the side of the road and parked it.

When she noticed that the car behind them had done the same, she cut the motor and looked at Missy. "I'll answer all your questions when we get inside, I think you perceived their actions accurately, they are following us," Catherine said.

Missy nodded numbly. "I'm used to it. They have been staking out my apartment since the book was released earlier this week. My father and brothers are completely annoyed with this and even Travis has said that I should just go off somewhere and spend a few nights away from it all. Now it's spring break, and even though I am relieved that there is no school, I don't have anything to do. Mike went back to Texas this morning with his parents and brother to celebrate Easter with his grandparents."

"You know, Travis is probably right, and I think I know just the place," she said. "Come on, let's go, my friend Edie will help us shake 'em."

They rushed inside the building, the two women following them at an undetectable distance.

* * *

Inside the large building, Catherine could see the persistent reporters coming through the glass doors at the front of the building. She quickly pressed the button to summon the elevator, and sighed with relief when the doors immediately opened. She ushered Missy quickly inside and pressed the number 14 for the floor that her office was on. As the doors were closing, she could see the two women running towards it in hopes of catching it and trapping them inside.

Missy could feel her palms beginning to sweat as the two women came closer, but when the doors were completely closed, she sighed with relief and leaned up against the wall.

As the elevator made it's ascent, Catherine began to contemplate the possibility that the women would know which floor they were running to and after a few moments of contemplation, she pressed the number eight.

"Why did you do that?" Missy asked.

"Because, I know reporters, they are persistent as lawyers, and I figure if we got off at eight, we can take the stairs up and give them the slip."

As they came out of the elevator, Joe Maxwell was waiting to get on.

"Joe, can you act as our decoy?" Catherine asked.

"What's going on, Radcliffe?" he asked. "I thought you had left for the day."

"I did, but now we're playing dodge 'em with a couple of annoying reporters," Catherine said. "There's no time to explain. This is Missy Parks, the author of '_The Wind Will Guide Me_'. They've been trailing her since the book was released," Catherine quickly explained.

"I see," Joe rubbed his chin, "well, then, get going you two, I'll hold them off."

"Thanks, I owe you," Catherine said and the two of them ran towards the door leading to the stairwell. Catherine threw it open and together they ran up to the tenth floor. By then Missy was completely out of breath.

"It would probably be easier if I did the stupid interview," Missy whispered.

"Perhaps, but do you want to?"

"No," she whispered.

"Don't worry, if I know Joe, which I do, he has everything well under control. He'll take care of them, and they'll wish they never stepped foot in this building," Catherine said when they reached the door for the restroom. Inside, Missy splashed some water on her face while Catherine watched the door. "We're safe now, I haven't seen anyone coming down the hall that looks like them."

Missy sighed with relief.

"Has it really been this bad every day?" Catherine asked once she had closed the door again.

Missy nodded, "I can't go anywhere without being followed. People stop me on the street and ask me about the poems I have written. These two women have been at the school every day this week."

"It is now bordering on harassment, isn't it?" Catherine asked.

Missy nodded, "yeah but there is very little I can do about it."

"Maybe, maybe not," Catherine said smiling. "My father always said that one should have a doctor and a lawyer in every family, and you, my dear, now have one of each."

"I do?"

"Well, extended family, you've got me, and Father is a doctor," Catherine whispered. "Now, all we have to do is keep you out of the newspaper business."

Missy smiled, as Catherine opened the door once again and peeked out into the hallway.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Catherine had found Edie. Together, the two women planned to smuggle Missy out of the building in Edie's car. They walked down the stairs and into the underground garage. Missy crawled into the backseat, and Catherine took off her blazer before climbing into the passenger seat.

As Edie was driving Catherine and Missy out of the underground garage and in the direction of her apartment, Catherine spoke. "Missy keep your head down," she said gently once they drove out onto the street. She tossed her blazer to the girl in the back seat.

"This is like a cops and robbers movie, Cathy," Edie said as she glanced up to see if they were being followed. The street was clear, but Missy covered her head with the jacket and laid down in the back seat.

Five minutes later, Edie pulled up at Catherine's building. "Did you shake them?" Catherine asked.

Edie nodded, "I think so, but for added security, give me your car keys and I'll send 'em on a wild goose chase," Edie said, but before they got out, she pulled a book from her glove box. "Would you mind?" she asked Missy, and the girl recognized it immediately, it was her book.

"OK," Missy accepted the book and a pen and opened the cover of the book. Once she had finished writing, she handed the book back to Edie who laughed heartedly once she had read what Missy had written.

To Edie, the best getaway driver in New York... Missy Parks 

Catherine gave Edie her car keys, and once they got out of the car, she and Missy ran up the stairs and inside the apartment building. By this time, none of the reporters were around, and they had successfully made their escape.

Inside the apartment, Missy collapsed on the sofa, leaning against the cushions.

"Listen, we have to plan something," Catherine said gently. "Do you have the number to reach your father?"

"Yeah, he and my brothers are all at work," Missy said sitting up.

"OK, why don't you get some rest, and I'll call him?" Catherine suggested.

Missy nodded and once more leaned back against the pillows. Moments later, she had fallen asleep.

Catherine reached for the phone and as soon as she had dialed the number, she could hear a young man's voice on the other end. "Parks' Cleaning."

"Hi, who is this?"

"It's Travis," the voice said.

"My name is Catherine Chandler, I'm a friend of Missy's," she said. "I thought I should call and let you know that Missy is with me. She and I met this afternoon at her school and just made an escape from the reporters out there."

"How is she?" he asked.

"She's fine, but as soon as we got here, she fell asleep on the sofa."

"Thanks for getting her out of that mess, those people give you hell, don't they?" Travis asked.

"That's one way of putting it," Catherine said bluntly.

"They've been hounding us here too, asking my dad, brothers, and I where she is or what she's doing. It's been a nightmare, we can hardly get any work done, partly because those people are aggravating, but also because we're so worried about her."

"I think she needs some time away from everything," Catherine said.

"Yeah, I know, we were thinking about sending her with Mike and his folks out to Paris, but right now, we couldn't afford to buy the last minute ticket," he said. "Even though the sales are doing good with her book, the money hasn't started coming in yet."

"Travis, I would like to propose that Missy stays with me and some of my friends for the week. I can give you my phone number here as well as at work, in case there is an emergency," Catherine suggested.

"I'll have to run it by my dad, but I think it should be fine. Go ahead and give me your address. I'll come by and drop off some of the stuff she'll need. Could you wake her for a minute and ask her what I should bring?"

"Just a minute, I'll put her on." She laid the phone on the table and went over to Missy, who was sleeping soundly. "Missy, wake up, your brother Travis is on the phone, he said he'd bring some stuff for you, why don't you go and tell him what you'll need?"

Missy crawled off the couch and went over to the phone. "Travis?" she spoke once she had picked it up.

"Yeah Sis, it's me, how you doing?"

"Tired," she whispered.

"I know, I'm coming by to see you within the hour, do you want me to bring anything specific?" he asked.

"Could you bring those three copies of my book which are on my nightstand?" she whispered. "Oh, and the rest of those old clothes from my room. The stuff in those garbage bags."

"You want me to bring those bags of old clothes?" he asked skeptically.

"Please," Missy pleaded, "it's important."

"OK, Sis, you got it. Anything else?"

"Will you tell Daddy what happened?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell him. Why don't you go back and lay down?" he suggested. "Put your friend back on, OK?"

Once Missy had returned the phone to Catherine, she went back to the couch and laid down.

"Travis, it's Catherine again." They talked for another five minutes and then once Catherine hung up the phone, she could see that Missy had once again fallen asleep.


	11. Part 2 Chapter 4

_a/n: Sorry it's been a time since I updated this story, but wanted to get a chapter up before I leave town. I hope you will enjoy this latest installment. Onlyaman you totally rock. I appreciate all the reviews you've given thus far. _

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**Part 2**

**Chapter 4**

A half an hour later, there came a knock at the door. Catherine went to open it and found a young man about twenty years old standing there. On his back was a large backpack, and in his hands, two large garbage bags.

"Catherine Chandler?"

"Yes," she said.

"I'm Travis Parks, Missy's brother," he said.

"Come in," she said and he dragged the bags inside.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Missy asked me to bring it, so you'll have to ask her, cause I haven't the faintest idea," Travis said. "Is she awake?"

"No, she fell asleep again," she said.

"How did you come to meet her, anyway?" Travis asked.

"We met through the Career Day assembly at her school, that was about three months ago," she answered. "I had to come in and talk about what it's like being a lawyer."

"Well, I'm guessing I should tell you that I'm glad she did meet you. I mean, with us, it's hard, because my dad and brothers are trying to keep the business open. It hasn't been so easy for her because we're always working."

"I know, Missy told me," she said gently.

They walked into the living room; Travis went over and sat down on the sofa next to his little sister. "Missy, come on girl, time to get up," he said softly.

Missy wearily opened her eyes and looked into the soft eyes of her oldest brother. "Travis?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Sis," he whispered. "I brought your stuff, and Dad asked me to bring you some pocket money." He pulled out 40 dollars and handed it to her.

"He's not mad at me?" she asked weakly.

"No, he's worried about you, we all are. He was wary about you staying here the week, but I assured that you were in good hands, and told him that it might lessen the burden you're under right now since we're always working and those reporters just won't let up," he said. "By the way, the books you asked me to bring are in your backpack."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Are you sure you're OK?" he asked.

"I'm just tired," she said hugging him. "Thanks for bringing my stuff."

"Hey, that's what older brothers are for," he said softly. "Take care of yourself, get lots of rest this week, OK?"

She nodded numbly.

"Go back to sleep, now. You've had a rough day, and need it. I'll come back and pick you up a week from Sunday, OK? Maybe, by then things will have lightened up on you."

Missy nodded, "OK, thanks, Travis."

Travis turned to Catherine who was standing in the doorway. "If you need to get in touch with us, here's our number at the shop, and at home. You will probably have a better chance of reaching us at the shop, so I'd try there first."

"Thank you, Travis," Catherine said.

He looked at her, shaking his head, "I don't know what it is about you, but somehow I know she's in good hands."

"She is, I won't let anything happen to her," Catherine said softly.

Travis nodded and left the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.

Catherine went back into the living room. "Missy, do you feel any better?"

She nodded numbly, "I think so."

"What is all this stuff your brother brought?" she asked.

"It's the clothing, I promised Father I'd get it to you, and then someone could pick it up here," she said softly standing up and reaching for the backpack her brother had brought. She reached inside and pulled one of the three books out. She opened the cover to the first one and began to write. Once she had finished, she handed the book to Catherine. "This is for you."

"It's your book," Catherine said. "I wanted to get a copy, but haven't been able to find one, thank you."

She opened the book and looked down at what was neatly written on the inside page.

_Cathy, you are the one I call my Older Sister... Love, Missy _

Once she had read this, she turned the page and could see the poem, 'Older Sister' listed fifth in the table of contents. She looked at Missy somewhat surprised. "You wrote a poem about me?" Catherine asked.

Missy nodded, "yeah."

"Thank you," she said giving Missy a hug. "Why don't you take your shoes off, stretch out and really try to get some sleep, I'll bring you a blanket, OK?"

Missy nodded and removed the sandals from her feet. She laid down on the sofa and when Catherine came back into the room, she gave Missy a soft white comforter and watched as the girl wrapped it around herself and fell asleep.

* * *

Throughout the afternoon, Missy slept off and on and Catherine did her best not to disturb her. She went about her usual after work routine hoping to get the place ready for Vincent's surprise visit. As she had promised, she had not told Missy about Vincent coming, but as the afternoon faded into evening, she began to question whether or not Missy was safe with her. In the back of her mind, she was unsure about how long it would be before anyone would discover that Missy was actually there and she could not help but dread the idea of a tirade of reporters descending on her apartment looking for Missy.

Her thoughts drifted back to Vincent and Father, and she knew that Missy was fond of both of them. She had gone as far as to say that Vincent was her father figure, and when she contemplated how alone Missy had been while her family worked, she could not help but ask herself if Vincent and Father would allow Missy sanctuary in the tunnels for the week.

As it was getting darker, Catherine began to watch the balcony for Vincent to arrive. When he finally did, she opened the door and he stepped outside to greet him. When he failed to see Missy inside the living room, he looked at Catherine somewhat bewildered. "Did you manage to bring Missy here?" he asked once he had given her a big hug hello. As their embrace ended, he looked through the balcony windows to get a better look inside the apartment.

"She's here, but Vincent, she's been sleeping off and on the entire afternoon. I gave her a blanket and she fell asleep on the sofa late this afternoon." She looked up at him, her eyes earnest. "I'm really worried about her, she's so exhausted."

Vincent nodded and without considering the fear he had in going inside, he came slowly inside and over to where Missy was asleep on the sofa. When he looked down, all he could see was a large, white comforter covering her. He moved it aside so that he could see her face, and when he looked down at her, her face was so pale that he almost did not know it was her. "She looks so different, Catherine."

"I know, I almost didn't recognize her either," she said honestly. "She's lost a lot of weight.

Vincent sighed deeply and got down on his knees next to the sofa. "I don't have the heart to wake her," he said softly.

"Vincent, could you take her with you, let her stay in the tunnels for the week?" she asked. "I'm scared to leave her here by herself, I'm afraid of what might happen. What if those reporters come here looking for her? They know my name, all they have to do is look it up in the phone book."

He looked at her and could see the troubled expression in her eyes, and after some moments passed, he stood up and reached for Catherine's hands. "What exactly happened this afternoon?"

Catherine began to tell him about the frantic escape from the school, and the persistent reporters who followed them to the building where she worked. "They would not leave Missy alone. Even after I did my best to give them a guilt trip, they did not let up, they followed us all over town, and I had to enlist the help of Joe and Edie to get away. I was afraid to drive directly here from the school because I didn't want to lead them here."

"That was a wise decision," he said softly looking down at Missy as she slept. "They have really made her an emotional wreck, haven't they?" He brushed her hair from her eyes and could see just how pale her face really was. His touch did not even make her stir; she continued to sleep peacefully.

"Yes," Catherine said. "I feel so responsible."

"I know," he said softly. "I'll take her with me. I'm sure Father will understand, in fact, I think he is rather fond of her."

"Thank you," Catherine said softly. "I'll bring her belongings down as soon as you go. Maybe, you could also send someone back up to get the two bags against the wall."

"What is it?"

"Missy's brother brought it, I'm guessing it's clothing for the community. She had asked him to bring it, so he did," Catherine answered.

Vincent nodded "I'll ask a few of the Helpers to come get it."

"OK," she said as Vincent bent over the sleeping girl and picked her up.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Vincent entered his chamber carrying Missy in his arms. She had barely even moved from the time he had left Catherine's apartment until he had reached the tunnels. He laid her on the bed, covering her with one of Mary's hand sewn quilts. There had been no time to prepare for her to come, as no one was aware that Vincent would be bringing her back with him. Father entered the chamber some moments later when he saw the light illuminating out in the tunnel.

"Vincent?"

"Shhh, she's asleep," he whispered.

Father nodded, "What happened? You had said that you were going up to Catherine's apartment to see her, I didn't think you were going to bring her here."

"I had no choice, Catherine asked me to bring her down for some rest. They had spent all afternoon running from reporters," Vincent said keeping his voice as soft as he could.

Father looked down nodding understandably as she slept. "Now that you mention it, she does seem to carry the traits of someone who desperately needs rest. Did her face look this pale in the light in Catherine's apartment?"

"Yes," Vincent said softly.

"Could you tell if she looked sick?" Father asked, his concern shifting from their safety, to the wellness of their young friend.

"She was extremely pale, as though she had not been eating right since all of this started and I barely recognized her when I saw her. Catherine had said that she looked as though she had lost a lot of weight, and when I picked her up, she was noticeably lighter than she had been when I carried her from your chamber to this one two months ago," Vincent said.

"Would you say that this is a drastic weight loss?" Father asked.

"Yes, I would," he said as he brushed her hair away from her face.

Father nodded once again. "The reason I ask is because she appeared to be pretty healthy when she was here before. But, now she looks as though the pressures above are effecting every thing about her, the main thing being her diet, but probably also her emotional state."

"What do you suggest?" Vincent asked.

"That we get some vitamins in her system before she has a nervous collapse," he said grimly.

Vincent nodded, "and here I was thinking she had forgotten about us all."

"I don't think she has, from what I understand, she was probably conscientious of her promise from the start, " Father said gently. "For once, I am glad you did not take my suggestion about letting her go, she is indeed a very special little girl."

Vincent nodded, "should I stay with her?"

"No, she's in no real danger, in fact, I think she'll sleep through the night," Father said. "Come, you can stay in my chamber tonight."

Vincent nodded and followed Father out of the chamber, leaving Missy peacefully asleep.

"How long did Catherine want her stay with us?" he asked once they entered his chamber.

"A week, Missy has holidays from school," Vincent answered. "Would this be alright?"

Father nodded. "I think so, but we'll have to arrange a chamber for her while she is here. I'll ask Mary in the morning to help with this, but we can discuss all that then, right now I think it would be best if we get some sleep."

Vincent nodded; it had been a long day.


	12. Part 2, Chapter 5

**Part 2**

**Chapter 5**

When Missy woke again it was nearly noon. She was in a soft bed, with a quilt covering her, but she sat up with a start. She was alone in place she had not seen in over two months, but to look around her, she could not immediately recognize where she was. She looked around the room somewhat afraid because the last thing she remembered was being in Catherine's living room. She did not know what time it was, or if this was simply a dream. She pulled her hand from underneath the quilt and brushed it across the soft fabric. How did I get here, she asked herself. She was frightened and all she could see was the single flame from a candle on a table at the other end of the room. She laid back down on the pillow and closed her eyes.

Moments later, she opened them again when she heard someone coming into the room and was now standing next to where she had been sleeping, their body cutting off the field of light.

"Good morning, Missy," the voice said causing her to wipe the rest of the drowsiness from her eyes.

"Who is it, who's there?" she moaned softly.

"It's Father, you're safe here," he said.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" she asked weakly as he leaned over and she could see his face better. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Missy, it's me, and it's no dream," he offered giving her a hug.

"How did I get here?" she asked softly.

"Vincent brought you down last night."

"He did, but why?"

"Catherine asked him to take you away from everything that was going on up there," Father said. "From what I understand, it's been difficult for you."

"Yeah," she said softly. "I don't remember anything that happened last night. I saw my brother, Travis, but then after that, nothing."

"That's because you had fallen asleep at Catherine's and when Vincent went there to see you, he didn't have the heart to wake you," he explained. "After he brought you down, I only had to look at you, and I knew that you are obviously suffering from exhaustion and a mild case of vitamin deficiency. Haven't you been eating?"

She shook her head slightly. "I haven't been able to even relax at home, much less eat. Every time I try, someone knocks on the door wanting an interview or asking me questions."

"You've become quite a celebrity in these past months, my dear."

"I guess," she whispered, but he could tell that she was not at all happy about it.

"But that's no excuse for not eating," he scolded gently.

"I know, but I did try. It's just that when I did eat something, my nerves would go crazy, and I couldn't keep very much down," she whispered.

"Have you been feeling nauseous or vomiting?" he asked.

"A little. I suppose it's because I'm scared much of the time. I feel on edge, as though someone is constantly lurking around a corner watching me," she admitted sadly.

"Do you feel that way now?" he asked.

"No, I've always felt very safe here," she answered honestly.

"It's been really bad for you, hasn't it?" he asked.

She looked down at her lap once again and eventually back over at him. Without saying anything, she simply shrugged her shoulders.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little," she whispered. "What time is it?"

"Nearly noon. Mary brought some fruit in for you this morning, and I can get you some orange juice or something to drink if you would like. I thought fruit would be the best, you need to get some vitamins back in your system, so you can get your strength back."

"Thank you," she whispered trying to sit up. When she discovered that she could not, she became agitated. "Why do I suddenly feel so weak?" she asked putting her hand up to her forehead.

"You're still worn-out, though you slept through the night, you've over exerted yourself and now your body is literally coming down from the adrenaline rush making you even more tired than usual. Vincent asked me last night if you could stay with us for coming week and I told him you could, but only because we all know you need to get your strength back and up there was not the right place to do this. I figure if you get a break from it, then you'll be better able to face it when you go back. From what I have been able to surmise, though, those reporters have been pretty relentless."

Missy nodded, "I sometimes wish they would just leave me alone."

"I know," he said sympathetically.

"Where is Cathy?" Missy asked opting to change the subject after some moments of silence had passed.

"I guess she went back up to her apartment, but I'm sure she'll be back later," he said.

"I figured I'd see her when I woke up," Missy said somewhat disappointed.

"She said that she needed to make sure the stuff your brother brought was going to be picked up, which by the way, you did not have to do that now," he said.

"I know, but I promised that I'd find a way," she said softly. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"No, of course not. I just don't want you to worry about us right now, when you should be concentrating on getting your strength back," he said.

She nodded, and leaned back against the pillow. "Do you know where Vincent is?" she asked weakly.

"He went for a walk this morning while you were still sleeping. He should be back pretty soon," he said.

"I missed him so much," she said as she closed her eyes. "I've missed everyone..." her voice trailed.

"We've missed you too, Missy," Father said smiling. "Right now, I think I should go and get you some orange juice, your face is still a little pale. Is there anything else you would like?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Then, I'll be back in a little bit. When you're ready, just help yourself to some of the fruit," he said softly and left the chamber.

Instead of going and getting something from the small bowl, Missy shifted her weight on the bed and snuggled down beneath the quilt. It was so comfortable there, and after seeing Father and knowing that she was back with her friends, gave her an intense feeling of relief.

She opened her eyes a few moments later, and could see the fruit from her vantage point on the bed, but she was simply too tired to go and retrieve any of it. As soon as she had closed her eyes once again, she could hear voices coming from outside the chamber. Opening them again, she began to concentrate on the sounds and where they were originating. Through the resonance of it, she could hear a familiar and soothing one, and she guessed that Father had met Vincent in the tunnel and they were speaking to one another.

"Vincent?" she murmured, "are you there?"

When no one answered, she simply closed her eyes thinking that she was now hearing voices in her mind. She rolled over and burrowed herself beneath the blankets covering her. Once she had gotten comfortable, she could hear the sounds again, this time they seemed closer and after a few moments, they had stopped. Suddenly, she could sense that someone had come back into the chamber and was now seated in the chair that Father had occupied earlier. Missy rolled over and opened her eyes half expecting to discover that she had drifted off to sleep and that Father had simply returned with the orange juice.

When her eyes focused on the person who was now seated next to her, she licked her dry lips and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Vincent."

"Hello, Missy," he said softly.

She struggled to sit up, but was unable to support even her own weight and she fell back against the pillow. After some moments, she reached her arms up towards him, hoping that he would help her to sit up in the bed. He took her arms gently but firmly in his hands and pulled her to a sitting position. In one fluid motion, he wrapped her securely in his arms and held tightly to her as she began to weep softly.

"I've missed you so much," she cried softly.

"I'm here, Missy, don't cry, everything is going to be fine," he said gently.

"I thought you'd be mad at me," she tried to speak, but her voice emerged as though she was out of breath. She buried her face against the blonde hair of his mane.

"I was never angry with you," he whispered. "When so much time had passed by without me hearing anything from you, I thought maybe you had forgotten, but I really had no idea that you were under so much pressure there. I feel myself responsible for having left you alone so long," he said, his voice soft as he patted her head gently. "I had no idea that you were in so much pain until Catherine brought me your letter. Then I felt regret for having believed something that was untrue."

She looked up and tried to wipe the tears away, but as she did, she spoke, "but it wasn't your fault. I should have tried to contact you two months ago."

"Missy, I received your letter two days ago, and it made me realize that I had been wrong," he said.

"No, I should have tried, then I thought the letter was the only way to reach you," she looked down at her lap. "I wanted to come see you, I really did, but I was scared. Vincent, I was so frightened, I had never been so afraid in my life. The people...they wouldn't leave me alone. I was scared to even contact Cathy because..." her voice trailed.

Vincent nodded as he wiped his hand across her cheeks, smearing the moistness away. "Don't cry, Missy, it's OK. I know you were willing to forgo your own needs for the needs of myself as well as the people who live here. It's a very noble thing, what you did; however, I hate to see how much pain you have had to endure because of it. I know you had recognized these risks, but in doing so, you had essentially cut yourself off from those who care for you," he said gently.

"But, you know why I did it," she said softly. "I was scared to come back. I knew they would follow me, and then I would have had to live feeling that I betrayed your trust in me," the tears began to spill down over her cheeks once again.

Vincent smiled down at her as he reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Missy, I know that you are more afraid for me then you are for yourself, that is evident in your eyes. Perhaps there existed some legitimacy in those fears. Catherine told me about what happened yesterday and how you were trying to get away from those two over-zealous reporters. It was through Catherine's words as well as your note that made me realize just how difficult everything had been for you and I made the decision to come to you since you couldn't come to me."

Missy looked up at him, "I'm frightened, Vincent."

"I know you are, but I'm here now, and you don't have to be afraid anymore. I'll be there for you when you need me. There's no reason for you to worry whether or not we are friends, Missy, I will always be your friend, and I will do whatever I can for you. This is a promise I will always honor."

She nodded numbly as he released her. She leaned back against the pillow. "Father said you brought me here last night, but I don't remember anything."

"I do not expect you to, you had been asleep when I came to Catherine's apartment last night. She had told me about what had happened, and she was afraid that those reporters were going to eventually show up there without warning. She concluded that this would be the safest place for you. I agreed the moment I saw you asleep in her living room."

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked.

"Because you needed your sleep, you had been through so much, and I could not even contemplate waking you when adequate rest would have been the most beneficial to you," he said soothingly.

She nodded. "I didn't realize I was so tired."

"I can understand that," he said. "It seems that you have been on your guard since the book came out."

"Did you see it yet?"

"No, Father tried to get us a copy, but he said that it was sold out. More people appreciate your poetry then you thought," he said.

"I guess so, but I do have a copy for you, as well as one for Father," Missy said, "I asked my brother to bring them, but they're probably still at Cathy's apartment."

"No, she brought all of your things down last night," he said. "Your belongings are all here in this chamber. Do you want anything?"

"Can you get one of the books out of the backpack for me?" she asked. "They're right on top." Vincent stood up and walked over to where her things were. He opened the backpack, reached inside and when he found the book, he pulled it out. He brought it over to her as she was sitting up in the bed and reaching for it. "Do you have a pen?"

Vincent walked over to the desk and picked up a pen and returned to the chair. He sat down and handed the pen to her.

With the book and the pen in her hand, she rolled over onto her other side, and with her back to him; she began to write. A couple minutes later, she turned back around and handed him the book without saying a word.

Vincent opened the book and looked down at what Missy had written.

_A Treasured Friend like you, Vincent, is a gift from the heavens. Love, Missy_

After reading what she had written, Vincent closed the book and hugged it tightly to his chest. "You are a very special person, Missy. Don't ever believe for a moment that you are less than unique," he said and she could tell he was visibly moved.

"Can I see it for a minute, I want to show you something?" Missy asked and Vincent handed the book to her. She opened it to the poem 'Treasured Friend' and handed it back to him. "Read this," she said.

Vincent began to read the poem and when he was finished, he returned the book to his lap. "You didn't show me this when we were selecting the poetry," he said. "Why is that?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you with it. The poem is about you," she said softly.

"About me? You wrote this about me? But why?" he looked back down at the poem, this time he studied it more intently. After some moments passed, he closed the book, his hand rubbing gently over the cover.

"Remember when we talked the day I got caught in the net?" she asked.

"Yes," he whispered, "that was when we met."

"I wrote it that evening after I came home," she said. "There are more that I wrote, but I picked that one because it was my favorite," she said, but when Vincent did not answer, she suddenly felt uncertain and spoke again. "You're not angry that I did that, are you?"

"No, I'm not angry, I'm deeply honored," he said softly.

Missy smiled weakly, "seeing that you liked what I did makes it all worthwhile, but I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about what the real meaning behind it is, it's just for you to know."

Vincent took her hand and squeezed it gently. No more words were said regarding the poem, but she could tell that he was grateful.

"Now then," he began, changing the subject. "Father said that you haven't been eating right. Did you eat any of the fruit that Mary brought in earlier?"

"Not yet," she said.

"Then I think you need to," he stood up and went to the table where the bowl of fruit sat. Retrieving it, he returned to the chair and placed it in her lap. "Go ahead, you can sleep some more after you've had something to eat."

She picked up an orange and began to peel it. "You know oranges are my favorite?"

"No, I didn't know that," he said smiling.

"Do you like oranges, or are you more a meat and potatoes kind of guy?" she asked smiling mischievously.

Vincent laughed, took one of the oranges out of the bowl, and began to peel it. "I like oranges, too," he said smiling.

"Do you know what is better than eating oranges, Vincent?" she asked.

"What's that?"

"Being here, and feeling safe, and knowing I don't have to face going back up there yet," she said softly as she ate a wedge of the orange. "I haven't been this relaxed in so long that I almost forgot what it felt like."


	13. Part 2, Chapter 6

**Part 2**

**Chapter 6**

That afternoon, after Missy had slept a few hours, Father and Vincent helped her get settled in a chamber that would become what she would dub her home away from home. As Vincent was carrying her belongings into the small chamber, Missy sat down on the bed next to Father. "This reminds me of when we used to go and visit my grandma," she said as she felt the texture of the quilt she was sitting on.

"Mary made that," Father said, "She does a great deal of sewing and knitting."

"It's lovely," she said.

"Are you feeling any better?" Vincent asked once he put her backpack down.

"I think so, but I hope while I'm here, that you are planning to show me around," she said. "I still fear that I would get lost down here."

Vincent smiled, "I'd be glad to do that, but you also need to rest."

Father nodded in concurrence, "yes, that is what you need the most."

Missy looked around the small chamber, "I'm not sick," she complained, "I'm just tired. Besides, I think you would agree that I also need to have some fun."

Vincent and Father chuckled as Father stood up, "OK," he finally relented, "but I don't want you to overdo it, agreed?"

Missy nodded, "OK, I'll do as you say, after all, you are the fearless leader here," she grinned impishly as she stood up and walked over to the backpack and pulled the third copy of the book out. Once she held it, she turned around and walked over to him. "Read page 35, the poem is about you."

Father took the book from her hands and opened it. Once he had read the poem, he looked up at her. "Thank you, Missy," he said. "I'm touched."

"She wrote one for you too?" Vincent asked looking over Father's shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of the poem Missy had written.

Father turned the book around and held it up to his chest, showing it to Vincent. "I'm compared to King Arthur," he said smiling broadly.

"You compared him to King Arthur?" Vincent asked. "I don't believe it. Let me see," he said and reached for the book.

Father hugged the book even tighter to his chest. "Wait a minute, this is my copy," he said causing Missy to start giggling as she watched the two of them. "I think she gave you your copy already, and if it is in your chamber, then you must go retrieve it."

Missy laughed out loud as she continued to observe them. They were acting more like kids her age than adults and this brought a smile to her lips. Finally, she reached for the book, and when she had it in her hands, she opened the book and began to write on the inside cover.

When she finished, she handed the book back to Father, who opened it and began to read what she had written.

_Don't let it go to your head, Father, I love you just as you are...Missy_

When Vincent saw this he chuckled to himself, but after a few moments, his expression was once more serious. "You are feeling better, I think."

She nodded as Father stood up, walked over to the table, and placed the book on it. When he returned, he looked down at her so that he could see her face better. Satisfied that she was not as pale as she had been before, he nodded, and sat down next to her. "I think in your heart, you are one of our kids, Missy."

Missy smiled and wrapped her arms around him. She could feel the tears brimming under her eyes, but this did not matter, she had found that belonging was not in a place, but rather in the heart, and she knew with their friendship, she would be able to handle the world above. Right now, she did not want to think about this, she had a week with the tunnel community, and this was the greatest spring break vacation she could have asked for.

* * *

Early Monday morning, Andy Hudson sat at his typewriter. He had been overlooking the interview he had had with Missy Parks as well as trying to write the introduction to the article about her. Her answers had been almost noble in nature, and the longer he sat looking down at the transcript, the more curious he became about her. She had been somewhat vague about the poem 'Treasured Friend' and though he would never print anything about the poem in his interview, there was a sense of familiarity to this particular piece.

"Andy," a voice interrupted his thoughts and he looked up to see his colleague, Judy, standing nearby. "Mr. Franklin wants to see you."

"OK, thanks Judy," he said as he stood up with his copy of the transcript and made his way in the direction of the editor's office. He had given the editor a copy of the transcript the moment he had finished it, and was awaiting comment on it.

He approached the door and knocked. "Come in," the voice was loud and he opened the door and went inside, closing it behind him. He approached the seat opposite the editor's desk and sat down.

"I'm impressed with what you were able to get from Missy Parks, Hudson," the editor cut right to the chase.

"Thank you, Sir," Andy answered.

"Your transcript is really good, but I was wondering if you could get some more information from her about some of her poems, specifically, this 'Treasured Friend' piece," he said.

"Well Sir, I could try, but she did not seem all that willing to give me information about that poem. I think she wishes to protect the identity of that person," Andy offered honestly.

"Be that as it may, Hudson, it would do this magazine good to find out who the inspiration behind her poetry is," Franklin said.

"Sir, she mentioned her mother a lot when we talked," he said.

"Yes, but the book is also dedicated to her mother, in loving memory," Franklin said. "And here, she said that her mother had died when she was five."

Andy sighed deeply and looked across the desk to his editor. "With all due respect, Mr. Franklin, but what has taken control of this city?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I'm saying is that Missy Parks is a twelve year old kid. I saw her last week, and quite frankly, she's merely a shadow of the photo you see on the inside jacket of that book. She looked tired, and I think she's having a hard time right now."

Franklin looked at the young reporter sitting on the opposite side of the desk, his tone softened, "I didn't realize that, but the fact is, she's a good human interest piece. She's a twelve-year-old girl who can write poetry like some of the great historical poets. You've read her book, Hudson, she's a poetic prodigy, and naturally, people want to know what makes her tick."

"If things keep going as they are, what makes her tick will ultimately be a time-bomb," Andy said softly. "Mr. Franklin, maybe you should meet her yourself. She's a soft-spoken kid. She's determined to maintain the private things about her work, and I have seen what had been happening. Reporters from tabloid newspapers have been staking out her school and home. She even told me that some of them would follow her boyfriend around hoping to find her."

"You know, Hudson, I have a twelve-year-old son, and he told me when the book came out that he couldn't live with that kind of attention," Franklin said softly.

"Last week, I drove by the dry-cleaning establishment owned by her family, and people were standing around waiting for her. I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing trying to talk to her, and when I did make contact with her, she..."

"...Was taken aback by your soft demeanor," Franklin finished.

"She said that I was different from most of the people she had talked to. She then said that most simply wanted to fish for information and that it didn't matter that they were imposing on her or her family. I promised her that I wouldn't do that to her and that in this case, we'd be working together," Andy said. "Perhaps, I shouldn't have made that promise, but when I took this job, Mr. Franklin, I took it because 'Expression' seemed to be a noble enough publication which was not focused on all this sensationalism."

"You're right, Hudson," Franklin said. "I'll make a deal with you. If you can find Missy Parks again, ask her if she would be willing to come here and speak to me, and we will have a heart when it comes to dealing with her. I understand that she might be fragile, and perhaps I'm as guilty as the others when it came to the story about her."

"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Franklin, you seem to understand what I am saying about all of this," Andy said.

"Not what you're saying, Hudson, but rather what Missy said. Could you bring me a copy of the tape you made, I'd like to listen to it?"

"Sure," he said and stood up to leave the office.

"Oh, and Hudson?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Good work," Franklin smiled and Andy left the office. At his desk, he pulled out a copy of the tape he had made when he interviewed Missy. Once he dropped it off at the editor's office, he decided that it was time to go and have something for lunch.

As he walked outside, he smiled. He could feel the bright New York sunshine on his arms, and he sighed contentedly. First lunch, then I'm going to find Missy, he thought to himself as he walked towards a hot dog vender and bought himself a chilidog.

As he sat down, he began to unwrap the food. Looking down at it, he took a bite and savored the taste. Moments later, he saw three women walking outside an adjacent building coming in the direction of where he was sitting. He recognized two of them, he had seen them at Missy's school, and was aware that they worked for one of the trashiest tabloids in the city. As he continued to eat, he inched closer to where they were now sitting and began to overhear what they were saying to a third woman.

"Missy Parks gave us the slip," the first woman was saying. "I don't know how it happened, but she did."

"What happened exactly?" the third woman asked.

"It happened at one of these legal buildings uptown. We had followed them there, and when we got there, we had a run in with this creep named Joe Maxwell," the second woman took up the story. "It's perfectly obvious that that guy really hates reporters."

"Why did you run into him? I thought you were trailing Missy Parks?" the third woman asked.

"What happened was, we had gotten the name of the woman she was with, and checked on the bulletin board to see if her name was there. It was, and we got into an elevator and rode up to the 14th floor where her office was supposed to be. Anyway, when we got up there and the doors opened, we came out and instead of seeing Missy, we were looking at this guy, and it was almost as though he had been standing there waiting for us."

"Yeah," added the first. "He started telling us that this was a legal office building, not a three- ring circus. When we tried to defend ourselves, he had security throw us out."

"Woah, how humiliating," commented the third woman. "Then what happened?"

"We were escorted back to the elevator, downstairs, and to the door leading outside. We had no choice, so we went and waited by the car belonging to Missy's friend," the second woman said. "Two hours later, they still hadn't come out, so we left. We had no idea where she had gone, and when we returned to her apartment, the whole place was dark."

"Did you see anything else?" the third woman asked.

"No," replied the first woman. "In fact, we had gone there over the weekend, and the place looked deserted."

"You said she was with a friend, right?" the third woman asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, if you know the name, maybe she's hiding out there," the third woman said. "You told me earlier that the principal told you that she has spring break this week, so maybe she's hiding out at her friend's place."

"You know, that's possible," the second woman mused.

"What's her friend's name?"

"Catherine Chandler," the first woman said.

"Well, the answer is quite simple, all you have to do is look up her name in the book..."

Andy didn't hear anymore, instead, he threw the uneaten portion of his chilidog in the garbage, grabbed his things, and left the area; his face was now etched with worry.

* * *

At this moment, Catherine and Edie were sitting at the computer at the D.A. offices. "So, Cathy, you never told me what happened Friday," Edie was saying. "Did you and Missy manage to give those pests the slip?"

"Yes," she said.

"So, I'm left to assume that she's safely hidden from those barracudas," Edie said smirking.

Catherine nodded as some new data came up on the computer. "It looks like we found the information we needed."

"I'll make a printout of it and file it," Edie said immediately focused on their work.

"Thanks," Catherine offered as she saw a young man coming down the hall. "I'll be right back, it seems an old friend of mine has decided to come by for a visit."

Edie nodded and returned her attention to the computer as Catherine stood up. When she reached him, she smiled, "Hi Andy, what brings you by? It's been a long time since I last saw you."

Andy Hudson smiled weakly, "Hi, Catherine, I need to talk to you about something really important. Do you have time for lunch?"

"Sure, I was just going to go to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat, how does that sound?" she asked and once he nodded she turned towards Edie, "I'll see you this afternoon, OK? I'm going to lunch."

Edie nodded as Catherine began to walk with Andy towards the elevators. "What's going on?" she asked once they had reached it and she had pressed the button to go down. When the doors eventually opened, they stepped inside.

The young man sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. "I think something really bad is about to happen," he whispered. "I can't seem to shake it."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"Did you see the book Missy Parks wrote?" he asked. "The one with all her poetry in it?"

"Yes, in fact, she gave me a copy," Catherine said.

"So I had heard right, you are friends with her."

"Yes, we met sometime ago, why?"

"This is off the record, Catherine, but is she at your apartment now?" Andy asked. "I'm not going to go harass her or anything, but I overheard two people who have that intention. I just want to know that she's safe."

Catherine looked into the eyes of the young reporter. "No, she's not at my apartment," she said honestly, "she's with Vincent."

"You sent her below?" Andy whispered.

Catherine nodded.

As the elevator reached the floor, they came out of the elevator and walked down the hall in the direction of the cafeteria. Once inside, Andy looked at her as they got in line and Catherine reached for a plate of food. Andy grabbed a glass and a can drink and followed her to a table. "Catherine, I guess I should tell you, the magazine sent me to interview her on Thursday. I did go, and as luck would have it, I got a chance to sit down and talk to her for about an hour. She's really a nice girl."

"Then it was you?" Catherine asked sitting down.

"Excuse me?" he asked as he opened his drink and poured it into a glass.

"Missy said that she had given what she had hoped to have been her last interview on Thursday, so I'm guessing she had meant that it was the interview you had conducted with her," Catherine said. "I always knew you had more heart than your average reporter, Andy."

"I'm not just a reporter, Catherine, I think you know that," he began.

"I know," she said jabbing her fork into the food on her plate.

"I mean, you know that I was also a part of that world for over 14 years and I suppose that once a person finds that, it becomes something that will always remain." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Without Father's guidance I wouldn't have become the person that I am."

"I understand, but that was over ten years ago, and no one had seen you in the tunnels in a very long time," Catherine whispered shrugging her shoulders. "What I'm trying to say is that one could only be left to assume that you had forgotten. I mean; I'm glad you didn't change over the course of these years."

"One should never forget their roots, and though I was adopted there when my folks died, the community below are my family and I would give everything up to protect them," Andy said softly. "But, I don't understand, how is it that Missy had come to meet Vincent?"

"It was accidental, happened about three months ago. From what Vincent told me, she had somehow gotten through the Central Park entrance, and got stuck in one of Mouse's traps," she whispered. "Vincent had heard her crying, and went to help. Since then, they've been friends, and I guess somehow, the loneliness that Missy experienced above has basically brought them together and today their bond of friendship is very strong."

"This kind of friendship is very significant, I know," he said. "I know from speaking with her that she has not dealt with this celebrity thing all that well. I mean, she's pretty fragile, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is, that's why I asked Vincent if she could stay below for the week," Catherine said. "I had a feeling those two reporters that we played cat and mouse with on Friday would eventually come back."

"They will, as we speak they're trying to find out where you live. I'm guessing they're going to go and stake out your apartment now. When they dropped your name, I decided that it would be best to come here and tell you. I suppose after I get off work tonight, I should also go and tell Father."

"You should," Catherine said softly.

"It's been so long since I was last there, do you think they will remember me?" Andy looked into the eyes of the woman sitting across from him.

"They will, once you are a child of their world, this will always remain, regardless if you grow up and become a man," she said patting his hand gently.

Andy nodded smiling, "thank you, Catherine, and please, be careful, those people are on to you, and I don't want to see you get entangled in a media feeding frenzy."

"I will, Andy," she said softly. "Tell Father that I will keep a safe distance from them until Missy goes home on Sunday."

"I will, and thanks for everything," he said and stood up. "I'll see you later, and I will keep you updated on everything."

"I know you will," Catherine smiled as the dark headed reporter walked out of the cafeteria and through the doors. "I know you will," she whispered to herself as she stood up and walked back towards the exit which would lead her to the elevators. Sighing sadly as she reached the elevators, she pressed the button with the arrow pointing skyward. As soon as the doors opened, she stepped inside, all the while, her thoughts on Vincent. I know it's selfish of me to think this way, she thought to herself, but I hate not having contact with Vincent.


	14. Part 2, Chapter 7

**Part 2**

**Chapter 7**

"Is it always so cold down here?" Missy asked as Father was teaching her to play chess three days after she had been moved into her own chamber.

"Are you cold, my dear?" Father asked looking up from the game she had been stumbling through.

"Yeah, a little bit," she answered honestly.

"Didn't you bring some warm clothing with you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I had the same sweatshirt on for the last three days," she said honestly shrugging her shoulders. "I'm not wearing it today because it had started to smell. I guess my brother packed only spring clothing for me, and didn't think I would be needing warmer stuff or that I would literally be going underground," she sneezed as Vincent came into the chamber.

"Bless you," he said once he sat down at the table where Father and Missy were playing. "Who's winning?"

"He is," Missy said laughing. "I'm still trying to remember the right names for these pieces." She sneezed again.

"Vincent, why don't you go and see if Mary has some warm clothes that Missy could wear. Maybe Jamie has something she could lend her, since they appear to be about the same size," Father said.

"I'll give you my quilt for now, though," Vincent offered. "You could wrap up in it until we find you something suitable for our weather conditions down here."

Missy nodded and smiled. "Thanks." She picked up the knight and tried to incorrectly move it.

"Wrong," Father said returning her attention to the game as Vincent went into his chamber and retrieved the quilt. "You can't move it like that." He showed her again how she could move this particular figure. "In this scenario, you can only move the pawn up a square."

"This is really complicating," she grumbled as Vincent returned with the blanket and placed it over her shoulders.

"Don't worry, Missy," he said softly as she grabbed the edges of his quilt and snuggled beneath it. "It took me much longer to learn the game."

When she turned around, she could see him smiling, his eyes avoiding hers. She laughed again. "Is that true, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"He's a quick learner, Missy, I wouldn't believe that for a second. He can beat me and does just about every time we play," Father laughed, but turned back to face Vincent. "Don't you have something to do?" he asked.

Nodding, Vincent left the chamber.

"I knew he was lying before you could even call him on it," Missy said trying to sound smug.

"How did you reach that conclusion?" Father asked.

"Easy, he wouldn't make eye-contact with me," she said. "He kept looking away."

Father began to chuckle. "What say we take a break and have a cup of tea?"

Missy nodded.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at the table each holding a cup. "Father, can I ask you a question?" Missy asked as she took a sip of the hot liquid.

"Of course," came his answer.

"How long have you lived down here? I'm guessing it's been a long time because you have so many things in this chamber," she said.

"Yes, you're very observant, I've been here over 30 years," he said.

"I guess it must be nice to live in such a peaceful place, and to help people like you do," she said. "I cannot think of anything more fulfilling."

"It is," he said, "but without the help of many people, we would not be able to continue."

"The Helpers?" she asked.

"Well, not just them, but each member of this community also pitches in to help."

"What happens when a child who lives here grows up? Do they stay or go above?" Missy asked. "I noticed there were a lot of kids, but fewer adults."

"Some stay, but most are given a chance to make something for themselves above. We still have contact with many of them, but some choose to move on, often leaving New York all together," he said.

"I don't think I could ever just leave and forget this place. I don't even live here, but for me, there's so much beauty and compassion here. I don't see that above, but down here, I see my sanctuary from all of that has happened," she said softly. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yes it does, and probably much more than you realize," he said softly patting her hand.

Moments later, Mary and Jamie came inside the chamber, "Father, Vincent said that Missy needed some warmer clothes, so I brought some things for her to try." She turned to Missy, "They're on the bed in your chamber."

"Thank you, Mary," Missy said.

Jamie took Missy's hand, "Come on, I'll help you." Once Missy had untangled herself from Vincent's quilt, she allowed Jamie to pull her to her feet and steer her out of the chamber leaving Mary and Father alone.

"She's looking better, isn't she?" Mary asked once the two girls were gone.

"I think so, but I'm still concerned for her. I'm wondering how she will cope when she goes back above," Father said. "From what she has told me, she sees the same superficiality above that I have often been critical of."

Mary nodded, "yes, but you and I both know that she will have to eventually go back. She's rather famous up there, she cannot just disappear."

"I understand that, but I still worry about her. She does not seem to have very much contact with her family."

Mary shrugged her shoulders and looked at him, "I suppose Catherine will look out for her, and that will have to be enough, at least for the time being."

Father sighed deeply, "Yes, perhaps that will have to suffice."

"I know you're worried about her, but she's much stronger than you or Vincent think," Mary said.

"Only because she tends to hold much of what she feels inside," Father replied.

"As much as you care about her, she cares about you," Mary said. "I can see it. The longer she's here, the more attached she becomes to you and Vincent."

"I realize that, too, Mary."

"Jamie seems to have taken an immediate liking to her as well," Mary commented trying to change the subject.

Father nodded, "she's finding her way down here, but will things be as easy when she goes above at the end of the week?"

"She's going to have to learn to find her way up there, too," Mary said softly.

"I know, and she had started to, but that was before her book came out," Father said picking it up. As he flipped through the pages and looked down at the poems, he sighed deeply. "Vincent had said that this book had been her dream."

Mary nodded. "Maybe the positive part of her dream needs to be enhanced somewhat. Perhaps it would be nice if you were to read something from her work to the kids tonight."

Father nodded, "that's probably a good idea, at least Missy could then see the positive side of her writing. Not this sensationalist garbage, but rather the real-life effect it has on others."

* * *

Inside her chamber, Missy was changing into a large off white tunic that Mary had placed on her bed. Jamie was sitting next to the small pile of clothing and once Missy emerged from behind the curtain that acted as her dressing room, Jamie nodded approvingly.

"Is it warmer?" she asked standing up. "It should be."

Missy nodded, looking down and admiring the medieval style tunic she was now wearing. "Yeah, it is, and it's really comfortable too. Funny, I have always liked such clothing."

"Really?" Once Missy nodded, Jamie continued, "I never thought someone from up there would like these kinds of things. I heard about the trends and stuff up there from one of the Helpers."

"Yeah, but you know what?"

"What?" Jamie looked at Missy.

"They aren't anything they might appear. I mean, if you look in a book of clothing, you can't see the person wearing that stuff. I mean really see them for who they are," Missy said. "I knew this girl at school, she would always wear the trendiest things, but she's mean, snobbish, treats others as though they are beneath her. My boyfriend, Mike, calls her Miss Ladida."

Jamie laughed. "What's it like having a boyfriend?"

"It's nice, but he's also my friend, and he's really neat, smart, says he talks weird, but he's funny too," Missy said. "He's real."

"How do you know?" Jamie asked.

"Because he stood by me when I was an outcast, and he talked to me not caring what other people said or thought," Missy said. "He brought my letter to Cathy without questioning why I had asked him to take it, he simply did because he cares about me."

Jamie smiled, "And he knows nothing about us?"

Missy shook her head sadly. "I often wished that I could tell him, but I know deep inside that I cannot. Father would kill me if I did, and I couldn't bare to shatter his trust in me."

"No he wouldn't kill you, but he would definitely give you a lecture, and that might actually be worse than death itself," Jamie said laughing, "but don't tell him I said that."

Missy laughed, "I won't." She looked down at the tunic she was now wearing. "So, how do I look, really?"

"You look like you belong here," Jamie said.

"Thanks," Missy said. "I wish sometimes that I did."

"Vincent says that if you feel something in your heart, then it is always there," Jamie said. "Maybe you belong more than you think."

"Perhaps," Missy said softly.

"So why are you really here?" Jamie asked. "Father said simply that you were a guest, friend, and helper to us."

Missy nodded smiling slightly, "The truth is, my book is making my life crazy above. I can't go anywhere without being bothered by people and the reporters have been the absolute worst. After Cathy helped me elude them on Friday, Vincent brought me down so I could have some peace."

"Catherine's really neat," Jamie said. "She's also beautiful."

"Yeah, but her beauty is through and through, not simply external," Missy said.

"True," Jamie said and laughed. "Hey, I've got an idea, do you want to come exploring with me? We could go to the chapel, and then see the whispering caverns? There are lots of neat places we can go."

"OK, but I guess we should tell Father so he won't worry about us," Missy said.

"No problem, from here we have to go by his chamber anyway," Jamie said. "Come on."

The two girls left Missy's chamber together.

When they reached Father's chamber some moments later, Jamie had her arm around Missy's shoulder when they entered the room. Father looked up from the book he had been reading and smiled when they came in.

"Father," Jamie said softly once he had smiled. "Would it be OK if I take Missy exploring?"

"I think that would be very nice, Jamie, but don't loose her, she's new here and does not yet know her way around."

"I won't," Jamie said. "I promise."

"Do you feel warmer, Missy?" Father asked once he looked over and saw her standing next to Jamie.

Missy nodded, "Yes, thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me, my dear," he said as he picked up his book. "Just go, and have fun, but be careful."

Outside, Jamie looked at Missy, "he's sometimes really strict, but I love him."

Missy nodded, "it would be hard not to, Jamie, I mean, he's a dad to everyone here, isn't he?"

"Yeah, an over-protective one," she giggled. "Actually, it's good though, cause then we don't ever forget that Father truly cares for us."

"And Vincent?"

"He's like an older brother," Jamie said.

"I don't know if I could agree with that, I have three older brothers," Missy said laughing.

"You do?"

"Yeah, but I rarely see them. I'm closest to Travis, though, he's my oldest brother. 20 years old, but I have more in common with him than with my other brothers," she said.

"What about them?" Jamie asked.

"Matthew is 18 and Justin is 17," Missy said. "They all dropped out of school to go to work in the family business. I had told Vincent when we first met that I would probably have to as well, but then the book came out and the good thing about it is that I probably will be able to go to college after all. Before, there was so much uncertainty."

"What would you study?" Jamie asked.

"Probably English Literature," Missy said. "I remember someone once told me that if I went into creative writing, that it would eventually rob me of my creativity because essentially they would try to restructure it. But, I'm only 12, so I guess I have time to think about it. What about you?"

"I don't know," Jamie said. "I don't really want to think about leaving. I'm happy here, this is my home."

"I think if I had such a nice home, I wouldn't want to leave either," Missy said.


	15. Part 2, Chapter 8

_a/n: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy this latest installment. _**

* * *

Part 2**

**Chapter 8**

Andy sat in the subway car that evening. He was on his way back to his apartment on the west side, but for some reason, he found himself contemplating changing trains and going to Central Park. He carried his briefcase as well as the transcript and tape of Missy's interview, but the conversation with Catherine was still fresh in his mind.

When the train stopped, he got off and walked up the stairs and out onto the street. It was just beginning to get dark, could see the stars just beginning to peek out and shine overhead. In the distance, he could hear the sound of various cars honking in the distance. He was about four blocks from the park, but thought instead of taking another train, that he would simply walk. He had much to think about.

The afternoon had literally crept by, and instead of going to see Father right after lunch, he had to get back to the magazine and start working on his next assignment. Now, though nervous, he knew he could not put off going to see Father much longer.

When he reached the park, he could see it was pretty empty; the crickets chirping and couples searching for romantic places to cuddle had replaced the sounds of children playing.

He found the entrance to the tunnels, and carrying a small flashlight, he entered the large drainpipe and walked towards the stone entrance. It's amazing how much one remembers, he thought to himself as he looked around the darkness for the pipe to send a signal to those below. Strange, he could still make out the shapes even though it was pitch black in the tunnel where he was now standing.

Once he found the main pipe, he began to bang on it hoping that the tunnel world's signals had not been altered. Once he had sent the message, he waited until the door opened some moments later and Vincent appeared. Upon recognizing the young man who had come, Vincent moved aside so he could enter. "Andy, what are you doing here? It's been so long."

"I know, Vincent, but the reason I came is because I need to see Father," Andy said, "It's important."

"Come, I'll take you to him, I think he's about to read some poetry to the children," Vincent said. "I was on my way there now."

Andy nodded. "How is Missy?" the question had been unintended, but it slipped out, and he looked down at the ground.

Vincent turned around abruptly, "is that why you returned to us?"

Andy sighed deeply knowing that it would be futile to lie to his friend. "Yes."

"How did you know she was here?" Vincent demanded.

"Catherine told me," he said softly.

"And what do you want with her? She's been through enough, Andy, reporters she does not need. She has come very close to having a nervous breakdown."

"Wait, please, just hear me out. I came because I overheard something that involves her," Andy looked into Vincent's eyes.

"You overheard something," Vincent repeated.

Andy rubbed his hands together, "I had left the building where I work for lunch, and I overheard these two woman talking to their friend. They mentioned Catherine's name, and so I went to see her. She told me that Missy was here, and that I should tell Father what I had overheard. That's why I'm here, though if you really want to know the truth, this entire thing with those reporters makes me positively sick."

"You're here for no other reason?" Vincent asked.

"No, do you honestly believe that I would ever do anything to harm another person? I once lived here too, you know?" he asked, his voice coming out embittered when he realized that Vincent was essentially refusing to believe him. "Vincent, I have not forgotten, though my silence may have falsely indicated to you that I have, but this is my home. Do I not have the right anymore to come here simply on the grounds that I found my way above?"

"I'm sorry, Andy, I have not forgotten," Vincent said softly. "I try only to protect those I care for. Missy is a very special person to me, and I wish not to expose her to anything that will hurt her."

"Now, I understand," was all he could say.

"Understand what?" Vincent asked.

"That poem, Vincent. Missy wrote it about you, that's why she wouldn't speak in detail about it when I talked to her. You are the 'Treasured Friend' from her book," Andy said softly.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent asked.

"I met Missy once, last week when I had the chance to interview her. We talked for over an hour, and it was nice, not just for me, but she said that she had enjoyed the interview as well. She did not mention you, Father, or even Catherine, in fact, I have a copy of the tape of our interview, and if you want to hear it, I'll play it for you. I had simply mentioned that poem in passing, and Missy literally clammed up about it. She absolutely did not want to speak of it, but I told her that I found it to be a beautiful piece," he said softly. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Vincent. "Please believe me. I may work for a magazine now, but I haven't forgotten my roots, nor would I ever betray the trust she has bestowed on me."

"How did you figure everything out?" Vincent asked.

"I found out that she was friends with Catherine through eavesdropping on two tabloid reporters. They had apparently confronted Missy on Friday and were complaining to one of their friends about Catherine. I simply put two and two together."

"What did you do then?" Vincent asked.

"I went to see Catherine and told her what I just told you," Andy said. "I asked her if she thought I should let Father know what was happening, and she said it was a good idea. These reporters have probably discovered by now where Catherine lives, and it may not be easy once Missy is supposed to return above."

Vincent nodded, "yes, I believe that we do have reason to be concerned. You are right, I must take you to Father immediately."

* * *

Jamie and Missy entered Father's library and sat down next to each other on the floor of the chamber. They had spent the entire afternoon together and even sat in the dining chamber together. "This is the best part to the whole day," Jamie said softly as they sat together. "I wonder what Father is going to read us tonight." 

Missy smiled, "I always liked things like this. My mom used to read me stories at night, and I'd go to bed remembering the fairy tales and legends from them. My brother, Travis always said that I was asleep before she had finished the stories, though."

"When I was younger I did, but now I can stay awake through the entire story," Jamie whispered as Father pulled a book from the shelf and turned around to face the children who were now assembled in the library.

The two girls quieted down when Father sat down at the front of the room and opened the book he was holding. In the back of the room, Vincent and Andy had entered the chamber and Father looked up. "Vincent, would you please do the reading tonight?" he asked once he recognized Andy and stood up to leave the chamber.

Vincent nodded and walked through the chamber and accepted the book. When he glanced down at the now familiar book, he looked at Father somewhat skeptically. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Trust me," was all Father said and once he patted Vincent on the shoulder he moved through the group of children and left the chamber with Andy.

"I wonder what's going on?" Jamie leaned over and whispered to Missy as Vincent was making himself comfortable. "Usually, Father reads to us."

Missy shook her head unaware that Andy was even there, "I don't know, but I guess it's not any big deal, besides, I like to hear Vincent speak, so it's just as good."

Jamie nodded as Vincent opened the book and began to read one of Missy's poems.

As he read, the color drained from her face and she looked at Jamie helplessly unable to even move. She listened as Vincent read her poem and when he had finished reading it, he glanced up and his eyes met hers. She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, but when the children assembled began speaking up and asking him to read more, she relaxed slightly and looked at Jamie who was smiling.

"It's yours?" she asked Missy, her voice erupting over the voices of the other children.

Missy looked down at her lap, and when she glanced up, she could see that now, not only was Jamie looking at her, but about ten other children as well. She finally offered a timid nod.

"Wow, nice," one girl said.

"I think so too," a boy commented.

"I didn't know you write," Mouse said.

Mary sat listening as the children voiced their approval and when she looked at Vincent, she smiled. "I think it's unanimous, we would like to hear some more."

Missy looked around the room, her eyes beginning to mist over, but Vincent's voice broke into her thoughts. "May I?" he asked.

With the hopeful faces of the children now watching her, Missy could only look over at him and nod.

Vincent turned a few pages and began to read once again.

Twenty minutes later, it would be time for bed, and Missy dusted herself off as she and Jamie stood up to leave the library. "I'll see you tomorrow," Missy said.

"OK," Jamie said and joined some of the other kids and left the chamber as Missy walked shyly over to Vincent.

"Was this your idea?" she asked shyly.

"No, it was Father's," Vincent said.

"Then I should go and thank him," she said softly, and was gone before he could say another word.

* * *

"Andy what brings you by?" Father settled himself in a chair as Andy paced around the chamber uncomfortably. 

"Father, I'm sorry it's been so long since I was last here," he said softly. "I should have come back, perhaps it was foolish of me not to, but I need to talk to you about something important."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Missy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What about her?" Father asked.

"Catherine told me she was here, and why," he said. "I overheard two reporters today during lunch. They were talking about going and staking out Catherine's apartment. Catherine said that she would wait to make any contact with you or Vincent until after Missy goes home on Sunday."

"And you waited this long to come and tell me?" Father asked. "Why?"

"I was afraid, I didn't know what you would say to me, or if you would be angry with me," Andy struggled with his words.

"Andy, you are one of my children," Father began. "Why would I be angry with you? I am happy to see you again. Nothing you say will change that."

Andy looked down, the emotions beginning to overwhelm him. He could feel the tears in his eyes. "I haven't forgotten, Father, I could never forget."

"I know," Father said the reassurances echoing through the chamber. "Sit down, Andy, you can tell me everything that happened."

For the next twenty minutes, Andy explained everything he knew, how he had gotten the assignment to interview Missy, and how the interview had gone, as well as the conversation with his editor. Finally, he spoke about what he had overheard. "This afternoon, I went to Catherine and I found out that Missy was here," he was saying. "Father, ever since Thursday, I could not get her out of my mind. She's so fragile, but strong, and I had yet to meet someone of such strength since going above ten years ago. I had no idea that she would be here, I expected to see her in your library, but I did not."

"She was there, sitting next to Jamie," Father said.

"She was?"

"Yes, you may not have immediately seen her, she's dressed like one of the children here," he said gently. "She feels a part of life here, something she did not have before, a place where she belongs."

Andy nodded, "when we talked, I told her that I would work with her and that I would not betray her trust..." his voice trailed and they both looked towards the entrance to the chamber.

Missy had somewhat timidly come into the chamber, but when she recognized Andy seated inside, she froze. After some awkward moments passed, she attempted to speak.

"I--ah," her thank you and good night wish to Father had melted away as fear encompassed her. Without saying anything else, she fled from the chamber running through the tunnel in the direction of her own.

"Missy!" Father's voice erupted through the tunnel and he slowly emerged from his chamber to see that Jamie was standing there in the corridor looking somewhat bewildered. "Did you see which way she went?" he asked her.

"Yes, Father, she ran to her chamber," Jamie offered as he began to walk back towards the door to his chamber. She followed, fear in her eyes as she spoke. "What happened?"

Father stopped and shook his head. "My guess is she recognized Andy and now she's become afraid."

"But doesn't she know that Andy comes from down here?" Jamie asked.

"No, apparently, she does not yet know," Father answered. "Will you go find Vincent and tell him what has happened? Tell him he needs to go to Missy immediately. Please tell him that I will be along soon."

Jamie nodded.


	16. Part 2, Chapter 9

**Part 2**

**Chapter 9**

Missy lay on her bed, and covered her head with the blanket. They had found her, was the only thought going through her mind, the reporters had discovered where she was hiding. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, as she crawled off the bed and began to stuff her clothing inside the backpack.

I have to get out of here, she thought frantically, her hands reaching for her belongings that were covering the small table. She stuffed the items inside the backpack and began to push the clothing down in order to close the bag. Once she had managed to get it closed, she wiped her hand over her face trying to clear her vision, which had been blurred by her tears.

She reached for the backpack some moments later, as she attempted to hang the strap of it over her shoulder. As she began to walk slowly towards the entrance to the chamber, she turned back and looked around the room. "There's no place on Earth where I could have peace from this, every time I try, it comes back and haunts me." The backpack slipped from her hand and she sank to the ground the nerves finally getting the better of her. "I can't get away, why can't I?" she cried hysterically, her voice breaking the stillness.

Vincent had by this time, reached the chamber and stepped through the doorway to see her on the floor. He approached her quickly, wrapping her securely in his arms as he pulled her up off the floor. He could feel her trembling beneath his hands and he tightened his hold on her. "Shhh," he soothed, "I'm here Missy, and everything is going to be fine." That nervous collapse that Father had predicted was now rearing its ugly head, he thought grimly as he led her over to the bed so she could sit down.

She looked up and could see his kind eyes looking down at her once they were seated. As he spoke calming words to her, she tightened her hold on him, her voice emerging as she pleaded with him. "Please don't hate me, Vincent. I didn't know."

"What are you talking about, Missy, I do not hate you?" he whispered. "What has happened? Why are you so unhappy?" When she shook her head, he spoke gently to her in the hope of calming her. "You're frightened," he finally said.

She nodded, "Vincent, they found me."

"They? Who?"

"I knew it was unsafe for me to be here," she whispered, her voice haggard.

"Missy, calm down, you're not making any sense," he said softly. Once she appeared to be in control of her emotions, he looked at her. "Now tell me, who found you?"

She clamped her eyes shut, "the reporters."

"No, they didn't, they couldn't," he said. "You're safe here, we'll protect you from whoever it is that would wish to do you harm."

"You don't understand," she whispered looking down at her hands.

"Perhaps it is you that does not understand," he said gently. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then believe me, I will keep you safe from them. As long as you are here, you will always find the security you need," he promised.

"B-but Vincent, I saw one, in Father's chamber just now. I had only gone to wish Father good night," she said weakly.

"You mean you saw Andy?" Vincent asked.

Missy nodded, "I remembered him, he works for a magazine, and interviewed me last week."

"I know, he told me. Catherine had told him that you were here."

"Why did she do that?" she asked weakly.

"He would have eventually found out. You see, he did not come back to follow you, or to torment you; he came back because this is his home. Yes, he was concerned for you, as we all are, but what you do not understand is that Andy grew up down here, and we are his family," Vincent said.

"Honest?" Missy was confused.

Vincent smiled at her as he nodded. "Father raised Andy, just as he raised me."

"You mean; he's like--your brother?" Missy asked.

"Yes, and though he is a reporter, it was his concern for you that brought him here," Vincent said gently. "You liked him when you talked to him, did you not?"

Missy nodded, "yes, I did like him, he was the only one who seemed to care."

"You realize now that you did overreact to him when you saw him again," Vincent said softly.

Missy nodded, "I didn't know..."

"I know you didn't anymore then we knew that you had spoken to him last week," Vincent said. "Father and I both know that Andy works as a reporter, but we also had to listen to him to discover that he had come back because he cares for you. That's the only reason why he's here."

Missy nodded numbly.

"But, I have a funny feeling that you're still afraid to go back above, aren't you?"

She nodded, "I had a nightmare last night, that a bunch of reporters were chasing me through the tunnels and I couldn't find my way out, but I didn't want to lead them to you either." She sniffed as she continued to speak. "When I walked in there just now, this dream came back to me. Vincent, I'm so scared. What's going to happen when Sunday comes and I have to go back?"

"I do not know, Missy," he said softly.

"You said that you could protect me down here, but who will protect me up there?" she asked weakly, her voice filled with emotion. "I'm just a kid, I never asked for this, I never even wanted it."

"The book you wanted, that was all," he said softly.

She nodded, the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. "It was my dream, and all I wanted besides that was that people would like me as I am."

"They do, Missy," Vincent said gently. "I like you, Father does, Catherine, your friend Mike, and Jamie. She likes you a lot; she thinks you are a wonderful person. She came to find me just now and was scared for you. I could see it in her eyes, she knew that something was wrong, but didn't know specifically what it was. She thought it was her fault that you were in so much pain, and I had to tell her that she was not responsible for this. That is why it had taken me a little longer to come to you."

Missy looked down at her lap, "I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologize," he said softly as Father came inside the chamber.

"Did you explain?" he asked.

"Yes, but Missy had failed to tell anyone about her dream," Vincent said softly.

"Her dream?" Father asked and looked down at her. "What dream was that?"

Missy looked up at Vincent, fear in her eyes.

"She had a nightmare last night," Vincent explained quickly what Missy had told him and Father nodded after some time.

"That's why she reacted so emotionally when she saw Andy," Father said softly. He took Missy's hand and squeezed it. "I understand; you're still frightened."

Missy nodded numbly.

"You mustn't worry, we'd never do anything that would betray your trust in us. We try always to keep the tunnels safe from reporters, not just to maintain our secret, but also to protect those we shelter here," Vincent said softly.

Father nodded, "but just to be on the safe side, we should tell Mouse and the others guarding the entrances to be especially wary of strangers during this time."

Vincent nodded and stood up to go.

Once he was gone, Father looked at her. "Are you OK, now?"

Missy nodded looking down; shame was evident in her expression.

"You mustn't feel badly, Missy," he began.

"But I do," she said softly. "Is Andy still here?"

"He's still in my chamber, do you want me to take you to him? It might put your mind at ease about what has happened if you talk to him," Father said. "He's a good person, Missy, he would never do anything to hurt you."

"You raised him," she whispered.

Father nodded, "that's true, I did."

"So he can't be a bad person," Missy said softly.

He took her hand gently and together they left the chamber.

* * *

Andy was standing in Father's library. He had been looking around this familiar place, the memories rushing into him as soon as Father had left to go and console Missy. He could remember all those times that he would sit in this room as a child and remembered how he would stare longingly at the shelves and upon seeing the books, he discovered his intense love of literature.

There were all kinds of things that reminded him of the past, and how he suddenly was overcome with memories of his childhood. All this time, he had tried to block it out and for some reason; it had been moderately successful for him to forget fourteen years of his life. Missy had reminded him; perhaps it was that interview she had given that stung so deeply in his mind. Maybe, it was something else, something Catherine had said about forgetting that part of oneself. Whatever the case, Andy knew he had come home, and though it would be hard, he was home to stay. At the very least, in his heart, there is it mattered more than anywhere else.

He left the library and moved into the chamber where the man who raised him had often counseled him. He loved Father more than anyone else in the world, because it was him who had taught him to be a man. He looked down at the chess set that was sitting on the table, the pieces radiating in the dim candlelight. He ran his hand across the smooth texture of one of the pieces and waited.

Moments later, Father and Missy came into the chamber.

He turned around and could see that in the light, there were tears in Missy's eyes. He swallowed as he looked down at her. "I did not mean to frighten you," was all he could say.

Missy looked up, her nose swollen, and her face red from the crying she had done. She glanced over to Father wondering what was going to happen next.

"I'll leave you two alone," Father said gently as he squeezed her shoulder one more time and left the chamber before she could object.

She walked over to the chessboard that was set up on the table, she picked up the knight and looked down at it as the light reflected off of it.

"Did Father teach you to play, too?" Andy asked as he came closer to where she was standing.

"He started to this morning," Missy whispered. "I probably won't ever understand it though."

"I think Father is looking to find someone who is not as practiced in the game as Vincent," Andy said softy. "But, you will get it, you're smart."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked. "There's more to one's intelligence than how many poems they have written."

"I know that, Missy, but I am still certain of it," he said honestly. "Just call it a hunch."

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier," Missy said softly. "I didn't know you had grown up down here."

Andy nodded and smiled weakly, "I don't usually make it a habit of telling people."

She looked around the chamber where they were standing and after some moments she shrugged her shoulders and returned the chess figure to its place on the board. "I was just afraid that..."

"...That I might be following you?" he asked finishing what she was going to say with a question.

She nodded. "It has happened."

"I know, but I thought you knew that I wouldn't do anything like that. It was you who said that I was gentler than the others, and you were the one that invited me to come upstairs to your apartment and talk. I thought you knew that I had no intention of being obtrusive with you."

"I thought it was my obligation," she said defensively.

"No, it wasn't," he said emphatically. "If you didn't want to talk to me, you could have said so, I would have left peacefully. I may be a reporter, Missy, but I'm not in the habit of harassing people for a story."

"Then why are you here?" she asked.

"Because Father is the closest thing to a dad that I have," Andy said. "My folks were killed when I was six years old, and it was either go into a corrupted foster care system or move down here. I moved here, and Father raised me as his son." He regarded her somewhat angrily. "How would you feel if someone told you not to go and visit your family because of what you do for a living?"

Missy looked down at the ground. "I guess I would be as angry at them as you are now at me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." She turned away as though she was about to leave.

Andy looked at her trying to remember that with her, he had to thread gingerly as she was only a kid. "Missy, wait," he began to speak, causing her to stop. "Maybe I was being a little bit too hard on you."

She turned around and walked slowly back inside the chamber. "I shouldn't have said that, it was wrong of me."

"Why did you?" he asked softly.

"I was afraid," she whispered. "I had a bad dream last night. I had been chased by reporters, and then when I saw you here, that dream came back to me, and it frightened me."

"I didn't come here to scare you, I came here because over the course of our interview, you somehow brought my past back to me. I had forgotten so much about this place and it did surprise me when I learned that you were here," he said. "When I got here earlier, I didn't even recognize you in Father's library. You were sitting next to Jamie, but I did not even know it."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a child very much like the one I had been," he began. "Shy, somewhat afraid, but at the same time, curious, innocent, and very opinionated."

Missy shrugged her shoulders saying nothing.

"You really have found something down here, haven't you?" he asked.

"I found what it means to have real friends," she said simply.

"Just like you had said when we talked in your apartment. You said you had been searching, and then you found--Vincent," Andy said softly, "your 'Treasured Friend'."

Missy nodded feeling the tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

Andy shook his head, "no, I cannot. In doing so, I would betray the trust of _my_ family." He walked over to where she was now standing and rested his hand on her shoulder. "I guess it's easy to see that this is all strange for you, this celebrity thing. I cannot imagine living with what you have endured over the last months. That's why I told you that you always had a choice. Keep in mind though, it isn't just a choice when you deal with me, but it's that way when you deal with anyone. No one has the right to tell you what you should say or do, and they have absolutely no right to twist your words to mean something that is not there."

Missy nodded as he continued to speak, "I know you probably don't believe it, but ever since we spoke on Thursday, I have been trying to make heads or tails with the entire article that I must write about you. The truth is, I have never met anyone quite like you before, so willing to sacrifice their own internal freedom for the sake of the people they love. I am really touched by the fact that though I asked you about that poem, you had put your promise ahead of everything."

"I couldn't have done otherwise," she whispered.

"I know," he extended his hand to her.

She looked at him confused by what he was doing. She remembered how he had extended his hand to her before the interview had ended, but that was a business practice. Was it possible that he was now doing this for another reason?

"Friends?" he asked when she did not respond to his gesture.

Missy approached him and offered him her hand. "Friends."

They shook hands and when that was done, she looked at him. "Does that mean you forgive me for having said what I said earlier?"

"All is forgiven, Missy," he said gently.

"I know I shouldn't have lashed out at you, I mean, you have been nothing but kind to me during all of this, and I know there's no excuse for what I said. I realize now that if someone had said anything like that about my mother, I would probably have lost it," she looked up at him, her eyes still somewhat red, but she spoke, her voice noticeably softer. "I guess I said that because I'm scared," she looked at him. "Andy, have you ever been so afraid that you didn't know what to say, think, or do?"

He nodded, "when I overheard those two women in the park today, I was. Not just from what I had heard, but also for you. Fear I understand well, and I could tell that you have had more of these things happen in life than you deserve. I can only hope that you will accept that my intentions in coming here tonight were not to frighten you, but rather to speak to Father about something that has happened above."

"Something about me," she said softly.

"I cannot say definitely what has happened, but all you need to know is that I don't want to see you get hurt any more than you already have been," he whispered. "All you need to know is that I'll help you in any way I can."


	17. Part 2, Chapter 10

_Thanks Onlyaman for catching the typo, thus noted and corrected.

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**Part 2**

**Chapter 10**

After her talk with Andy, Missy returned to her chamber. She had contemplated all that had happened, but deep inside, she still wondered if this was real or a part of a dream. When she came inside, Jamie was standing there waiting for her.

"I was worried," Jamie offered.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention," Missy said softly. "I didn't know."

"I know, Vincent did try to explain everything to me," Jamie said softly, "but I've been waiting because I wanted to see if you were OK."

"Yeah, I think so," Missy said softly rubbing her head with her hand. "This day has really been hard for me. I guess sometimes not knowing something does more damage than actually knowing."

"I know what you mean," Jamie said putting her arms around Missy and hugging her tightly. "Missy, this is completely off the subject, but would you promise me something?"

Missy nodded, "what?"

"Promise me that when you go back above that you will remember that we're friends," Jamie said. "I know we can't always visit with each other, but I want to know that we can count on each other when things are hard."

She nodded, "I'll remember, thanks Jamie."

"I have to go, it's time for bed, if I don't, Father might get upset," she smiled. "I'm glad you're OK."

"Thanks," she said as the other girl left the chamber. She changed into her nightgown and crawled under the covers and looked towards the ceiling. The tunnels were now dark, and Missy closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate on Vincent's words. She could only contemplate this sense of security he had promised her after she had a nervous collapse. She rolled over onto her side in an attempt to get comfortable. She could feel a slow, but steady draft coming through the chamber as she rested her head against the pillow and taking the quilt she burrowed herself in deeper. A moment later, she had fallen asleep.

Two hours later, she opened her eyes again, to feel someone sitting next to her on the bed and nudging her gently. She suddenly heard Vincent's voice. "Missy, wake up," he was speaking softly bringing her out of the nightmare she was immersed in.

"W-what happened?" she moaned as she opened her eyes and could see his silhouette in the shadows.

"You screamed," he said gently. "Did you have another nightmare?"

She looked down at her lap as she remembered the dream from this night as well as from the night before. It was in the tunnel, and instead of a large group of people chasing after her; it was these same two women who had chased her and Catherine Friday afternoon. This time, they had cornered her against a wall; she had been trapped. Not knowing what to do, she had screamed, but this had emerged not just in her dream, but apparently had also traveled through the tunnels and into Vincent's chamber causing him to come and see what was wrong.

"Did I wake you?" she asked weakly trying to sit up. She pulled the quilt up until it was under her chin.

"You didn't wake me, Missy, I was writing in my journal," he answered.

Missy looked down at her lap.

"What is it?" he asked when she said nothing further. "Something is wrong, do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know," she said softly.

Vincent looked at her intently, "I know you're troubled, and I know that such difficulties as what you are under should not be resting on your shoulders alone."

"It's about Andy," she said. "He didn't tell me what has happened above, but I feel that something is not right. I know it has something to do with me."

Vincent nodded, "you can sense it, can't you?"

She nodded, "please, tell me what has happened."

Vincent sighed deeply before he began to speak. "The reporters have started looking for you at Catherine's, Missy. Andy overheard them talking about you, and he went to Catherine and then to Father to warn him that they will be going to Catherine's and we decided that we have to find another way to send you above on Sunday."

"Why didn't Andy tell me this?" she asked.

"I believe he did not want you to worry," Vincent answered honestly.

"But I am worried," she said softly. "It's Monday, I have only six more days left here, and then I have to leave. I'm scared of what is going to happen. Nothing is going to be any different when I go back. I know it. These reporters are still going to hound me and my family, and they're not going to give up until they succeed in wearing me down," Missy said.

"Perhaps they will, but what will be different will be you," Vincent said. "You're much stronger now, and I'm confident that you will be able to handle everything much better than you think."

"I'm not strong, I'm petrified. Vincent, will I get to see you again, or is another two months going to pass with no contact and both of us doubting the other?" she asked.

"I don't know, but you must not forget, a friendship remains in your heart and I promise you that I will hold to it as tightly as I am able."

"What good is that when I must sit alone at night, and my mind is consumed with thoughts of the people who have become a surrogate family to me? I hate the thought of leaving Sunday, not just because of those reporters, but because I haven't felt like I was actually a part of a family until I was brought here."

"But you do have a family, Missy, and I'm sure they love you very much," Vincent said softly.

"Not in the way that really matters to me," she said softly. "You said when we first met that I have a mature attitude about my family, but the truth is, since meeting you and coming here, I've had some time to think about it and what I have realized is so painful, it hurts."

"What did you discover?" Vincent asked.

"I realized that the poetry helped me develop a certain attitude about it, but the truth is, even after the book, I'm still so lonely. My brother, Travis, is the only one who has supported me, but the others are angry because of what has happened. Now it's worse because my brothers and father seem to resent me for it. They haven't said so, but I can see it, every time they look at me, it's in their eyes. They blame me for this publicity, and for everything that has happened as a result of it."

"Is that part of the reason you were not taking care of yourself?" Vincent asked. "Were you feeling guilt about all of this?"

Missy looked down at her lap and nodded. "I may not have betrayed you or your trust in me, but somehow I feel like I did betray my family."

Vincent looked sadly at her, "if I had known this, then I would have never interfered with your life the way I did. Please forgive me for that."

"But you're not at fault. I had told you it was my dream. You only did what any true friend would have done," Missy objected. "I know that you wanted to help me find acceptance above."

"This is true, but that is still no excuse. Catherine feared that this would happen, and I believed only that you would find the acceptance you deserved all the while knowing that your true friends would be there with you," he said. "I'm deeply saddened in knowing that I am responsible for the circumstances you must now live with."

Missy shook her head, "I don't blame you, Vincent. I never did."

"I do, and deep down inside you must realize that it is true," he said.

He stood up as though he was going to leave the chamber, but Missy reached out and grabbed his hand. "Please don't leave me."

"I would not leave you, Missy, but you do need your rest," he objected.

"Do you honestly think I can sleep now?" She asked. "You're my best friend in the world, and now you feel sad and it's only because of some stupid thing I said."

"No, it's not stupid, it's your feelings, and you must accept what you feel as real," he said softly.

"It is stupid, and now you probably want to leave before I say anything else," she said softly.

He sat back down. "No, I will stay with you until you fall asleep."

She released his hand and laid back down against the pillow. Vincent stood up and pulled the quilt further up and tucked her in. As soon as she was comfortable, he walked over and pulled a chair out from under the table and carried it to her bedside. There, he sat down. In the darkness, he could not see the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

When Missy opened her eyes the following morning, she crawled out of bed and went to light a candle. When the light filled the chamber, she could see that Vincent was still seated in the chair next to her bed, and had fallen asleep there. She walked over to him, his head bent over, his mane of blonde hair cascading down over his shoulders, and his arms folded in front of him.

She pulled the quilt from off the bed and covered him with it. Unaware of her actions, he continued to sleep peacefully. She watched him for some moments and then leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. As she straightened out and turned around she could see Father standing in the doorway of her chamber.

She walked slowly over to the table, and grabbed her robe. She unfolded it and put it on. As she tied the long belt around her waist, she walked slowly towards him, her head constantly down and unable to even look up and meet his piercing gaze.

"Missy," he said softly, her name emerging from his lips as though he was asking her a question. He watched as she walked slowly by him and out into the tunnel.

She shook her head and turned around, the tears beginning to stream down her face. "Father," she whispered trying to keep her emotions at bay, but also acknowledging that he had said something to her. She looked up after a few seconds and could see that he was still standing in the entrance to the chamber. When her eyes met his, she could feel her emotions about to collapse and she ran straight into his arms and began to cry uncontrollably.

"What is it my dear?" he asked as she held tightly to him burying her face against the soft tunic he wore. He slowly put his arms around her.

"He blames himself for what has happened to me," she cried.

"He loves you, and feels responsible for you," Father said gently.

"But it's not his fault, I never said it was his fault, I wouldn't," she whispered. "I didn't confide in him to make him feel bad."

"I know you didn't, and he knows it too, but a friend does not ever wish to see someone they love suffer, and Vincent does feel as though he had done wrong when he sent your poem," Father said. "You know that he is one of the most emotional and sensitive people in this world. He hides this away behind his wisdom and logic, but he is also learning to accept those things in himself."

Missy looked into the wise brown eyes of the man holding her. "I love him, not romantic like Catherine, but..."

"...Like Missy," he said and smiled gently down at her. "Your love is a gift, and your feelings are a mirror to your soul. The friendship that has grown between you and Vincent is very powerful indeed; he's become a kind of father figure to you, guiding you and giving you the courage to overcome. These kinds of friendships are very rare."

Missy nodded. "What should I do?"

"My dear, all you can do is tell him what you feel," he said. "Tell him that you love him, that he has been an inspiration to you. The strength we seek does not always lie in blood relations. Sometimes, Missy, a friend is an even greater blessing than a relative."

"I told him some of that in the letter I wrote," she said softly.

"Then remind him of it," Father said gently. "Sometimes people need to hear those words more than see them on a written page. Somehow, they are more lasting if you have the ability to go to them and tell them what it is you are feeling and how much they have inspired you."

She looked at him, "but how?"

"I can't tell you that, but the answers will come to you when you need them," he said gently.

Missy nodded, "Cathy was right, you are the wisest person I have ever met."

"Thank you," he smiled gently and decided to change the subject. "Why don't we go and see what William has cooked up for breakfast?"

Missy nodded and together they slowly walked to the dining chamber.

* * *

Vincent awoke some time later to see that Missy was no longer in the chamber and he realized that her quilt was now wrapped around him and that he had been asleep. He stood up and folded it and neatly placed it on the bed as Jamie came inside.

"Vincent, where's Missy? I thought she'd be here."

"I don't know where she is, but I think she went to breakfast," he answered. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes, I ate something earlier, but I wasn't really very hungry," she said honestly. "How is she doing?"

"It's hard to tell, I haven't seen her yet this morning," he answered.

"I heard her screaming last night, but I didn't think there was much I could have done," Jamie said shrugging her shoulders, "so I stayed in bed."

"She was OK, Jamie, I was here with her," he said.

"What's really going on with her, she mentioned her book, but I don't understand?" Jamie asked.

"Do you know what happens when someone is under so much pressure?" Vincent answered her question with one of his own.

"Yeah, eventually, they snap," she answered.

"That's what has happened to her, she's under a great deal of emotional turmoil above, and this has pretty much affected everything about her," he said.

"What can I do?" Jamie asked.

"Just be her friend," Vincent said calmly, "that's really all any of us can do."

Jamie nodded as he left the chamber.

She stood looking for some moments down at the chair that Vincent had occupied. "Just be a friend," his words continued to echo in her mind. She remembered the poetry that Vincent had read the night before and how much emotion was there in it. During the course of the reading, she recalled how she would get tears in her eyes. Missy had been at first afraid, perhaps about the reaction of the others, but when they had applauded, she had relaxed. I was sure that she was going to be OK after that, Jamie thought to herself as she walked slowly out of the chamber and in the direction of Father's library.

As she entered the empty chamber, she could see the book of poetry still sitting on the table where Vincent had placed it once he had finished reading from it and Mary had sent them to bed. She approached the table and looked down at it. She began to wonder if some of the answers she was seeking might actually be found between the pages.

She pulled a chair out from the table and sat down curling her legs below her as she opened the book and looked down at the table of contents.

Turning a few of the pages, she found one of the poems Vincent had read the night before. She glanced down at the words and began to read.

_Searching within I found love_

_In memories fading through a snowy mountain_

_I will wait for you, even in the pouring rain_

_I will sing to you, when you are lost and afraid._

_Through the stars I will find a guiding whisper_

_Through the wind a sense of harmony._

_But it is here beside you that I will find my way,_

_I will walk with strength beyond any reason_

_Because I will know that you will be there to guide me_

_Even when the shadows fall and the storms surround me,_

_You will stand beside me, protecting me from my enemies_

_Sheltering me from the stormy tempest that has surrounded my world._

"Jamie, what are you doing in here?" she looked up and could see Mary standing in the doorway.

She closed the book and stood up. "I was just reading some passages from Missy's book."

Mary came inside and smiled down at her. "Sit back down, I'll join you."

Mary pulled a second chair out from the table as Jamie sat down and once again got comfortable. The two of them opened the book. "Which one were you reading when I came in?"

Jamie sighed deeply, "that one, on page 18. Vincent read it last night, but I wanted to read it again, and then I wanted to read some more. I like her writing, there's so much feeling in it."

Mary nodded, "yes, it definitely shows that somehow she belongs here."

"I wish she did," Jamie said.

"She's become a good friend to you, hasn't she?" Mary asked.

"Yes, she talked to me and we had fun yesterday when we went exploring," Jamie said smiling. "We talked about everything, clothes, boys, and families. But, she seemed to envy me and what I have here with everyone."

"Did she tell you anything about what she had experienced above?"

"A little, but not much, she told me that all the publicity with the book has been hard on her, and that Vincent brought her here so she could have some peace," Jamie said. "When we gave her some clothes and after she had changed, I told her that she looked like she belonged here. You should have seen her face light up, Mary. She looked positively overjoyed. I wish she could always stay with us, things are more fun with her here."

Mary smiled, "I think a lot of us wish she could."

"You mean Vincent and Father?" Jamie asked.

"Yes," Mary said. "But not just them, you and me, and even Mouse had mentioned that he found her to be very kindhearted." She paused and looked down at the book in Jamie's hands. "Why don't you read the poem you had been reading, I'd like to hear it again."

"OK," Jamie said and picked up the book and began to read it aloud. As she did Vincent came into the chamber.

Mary looked up, "good morning, Vincent."

"Mary, do you know where Father is?" he asked.

"Yes, I saw him and Missy in the dining chamber about twenty minutes ago."

"I'm going to the whispering caverns. Would you please tell him when he comes back?" he said softly.

"I'll tell him," Mary stood up and walked over to him. "Is everything alright, Vincent?"

"Yes everything is fine, I will be back this afternoon."

Jamie and Mary exchanged worried glances as Vincent left. "What's wrong with him?" Jamie asked once he was gone and Mary had returned to the table and sat down.

"I don't really know," Mary answered.

Jamie watched as Vincent disappeared in the tunnel. "I think he needs a friend," she said softly.

Mary nodded, "perhaps." It was clear that both of them knew that something was eating at him, and were at a loss as to what it could be.

Five minutes later, Father and Missy entered the chamber. Jamie smiled when she saw Missy. "Good morning," she finally offered. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Missy said looking down.

"That's good," was all Jamie could say.

"Vincent was just here, Father, he wanted to let you know that he had gone to the whispering caverns, and would return later this afternoon," Mary said softly.

Missy finally looked up, "How does one get there?"

"We were there, yesterday," Jamie offered. "Don't you remember?"

"I guess a little, but there are so many tunnels, I'm afraid that I would get lost," Missy said softly.

Father sighed deeply and patted Missy's shoulder. "Don't worry, you can talk to him when he gets back. I'm guessing he needs some time alone right now, and he does go off alone now and again."

"No, I don't think he should be alone," Missy and Jamie said almost simultaneously. Once the words were spoken the two of them looked at each other and Jamie offered a weak, almost embarrassed smile.

Mary spoke, "if you want my opinion, perhaps you should let Missy go to him, since I have a funny feeling that his gloominess does involve her. Wouldn't you say?" She looked pointedly at Father.

Father looked at the two girls and after a few moments hesitation, he nodded. "Jamie, take her back to the whispering caverns."


	18. Part 2, Chapter 11

_This is the final chapter of part 2. I will begin posting part 3 in the coming days. I want to thank all of you readers out there for reading this story. It is one that has come to mean a great deal to me. Missy, although a fictional character is someone whom I have grown to love. I hope that you enjoy this latest installment, and as always...reviews are love.

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**Part 2**

**Chapter 11**

Jamie led Missy through the tunnels in the direction of where Vincent had said he had gone. As they came closer, Missy began to get more and more anxious. "Do you think he'll want to talk to me?"

Jamie shook her head, "I don't know, usually when he gets this way, people tend to stay away from him and give him the time and space to sort things out."

"But, he can't always do for others, he needs to let others do for him once in awhile," Missy said softly.

Jamie nodded, "you try telling him that. It's hard, because Vincent always wants to come across being strong; I guess it's something about being a man. Mary said that most men don't want to show others that they can be vulnerable."

"We call it being macho," Missy said. "It's really a turn-off though when a guy has to act like they are so tough that they forget to show that they are capable of real feelings."

"They do that at your school?" Jamie asked.

"Oh boy, do they ever. I would walk down the hall and they'd be flexing their barely existing muscles," Missy giggled as she thought about it. "I never had the heart to tell them that they were just being airheads about it, but at least Mike isn't too bad about it, though sometimes he acts as though he could wrestle a bull to the ground with his bare hands. The entire thing is pretty absurd though."

Jamie laughed as they came closer to the cavern. As if by impulse, both girls stopped speaking when they saw Vincent. He was sitting on the bridge and staring down into the cavern. There was a look on his face that depicted that he was in intense contemplation.

As Missy started to walk towards the bridge, Jamie reached out and grabbed her arm. "What are you going to tell him?"

Missy shook her head, "I don't know," she whispered. "Father said that it would come to me, I hope he's right."

Jamie nodded and backed away from her as she walked slowly out onto the bridge overlooking the cavern. She remained stationary for a few moments, and then backed into the shadows.

By this time, Missy had reached where Vincent was sitting. "Vincent," she finally spoke, her voice soft and she was left to wonder if he would even hear her speak his name, or if he would perceive it as part of the whispers, which were filtering through the cavern.

She reached out to him and rested her hand on his shoulder causing him to turn abruptly around and face her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice almost demanding.

"I thought you might need a friend," she said softly as she sat down next to him.

"Did Father send you?" he asked.

"No, I came on my own," she said. "And what if he did, can't you handle the fact that people care about you and worry as much about you as you do about them?"

"Father knows I often need to have time alone," Vincent snapped.

"He didn't send me," she began, her tone softening. "Jamie showed me the way here, not Father. Actually, he had told me that I shouldn't come. I only needed someone to show me the way after Mary had told us that you had come here."

"What is it you want, Missy?" he asked his voice softening considerably.

"I have to tell you something that I failed to mention last night."

"Did you have another bad dream?" Vincent asked.

"No, it's nothing like that. It was something that you said that I couldn't let go of. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't accept that I was telling you the truth," she said weakly. "I ended up crying myself to sleep last night because of it."

"I didn't realize..."

"Because, you were so convinced that you had done something to hurt me," she interrupted him. "But you couldn't have done anything like that, you're much to caring."

He said nothing; all he could do was look away from her, his attention returning to the whispers emerging from the cavern.

"I can't stand machos, Vincent," she finally said, her voice a mixture of sarcasm and frustration.

He snapped his head around and looked at her. "I beg your pardon."

Missy stood her ground and though she could see a little bit of anger hidden in his eyes, she spoke her mind without fear. "Machos are those men who think they have to always act rough and tough. When we first met, you helped me by showing me how sensitive and kind you really are. Now, you're acting like one of those studs I see in aftershave commercials on TV. OK, you may not know the type, these are guys who are constantly flexing their muscles in front of the women to impress them, who think they are only cool if they show people how robust they are," she paused. "Frankly speaking, I find it to be irritating, and I'd bet Cathy would agree."

"Missy!" he was completely taken aback with her boldness. "I never..."

"Yes you did," she interrupted him, her voice filled with hurt. "You have been the best friend I could ever ask for. You've been more important than just someone who has protected me, you have been like a father to me," she wiped the tears out of her eyes. "But, when I told you last night that I didn't blame you for what was happening in my own family or with the book, you insisted that I had refused to acknowledge the truth. That hurt me far more than you could imagine, because although you may see many things in me, good and bad, there exists one other thing about me that is clear, and that is I do not lie to my friends."

Vincent looked down into the depths of the cavern without saying a word. Missy continued to speak. "My father and brothers would still be working 16 hours a day, seven days a week with or without this book and regardless of what has happened, I would still have to deal with isolation and loneliness. Furthermore, if the book didn't happen, I probably wouldn't be sitting here right now, instead, I would be alone in an empty apartment staring at four walls constantly missing Mike or thinking about you, Father, and Cathy. Do you think that you're responsible for that, too?"

He shook his head. "Missy, I..."

"...You didn't think about that," she said softly finishing his sentence for him. "Vincent, I never expected you to take away all those feelings I had. I only confided in you because I always knew that you understood me better than anyone I have ever known. I never told you what I felt as a way of making you feel as though you were at fault for whatever it was that had happened. Yes, I'm frightened about going back, but I don't blame you for that. If anything, you have helped make me feel bold, as though I could attack any problem that presented itself to me, and that I could overcome it."

"Missy, I interfered with your life," he said softly.

"Most fathers do that, if I'm not mistaken," she replied.

"But, I'm not your father," he objected.

"No, but in the ways that matter, you are more like a dad to me than my own father has been," she said softly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's the truth. After my mother died, my father withdrew himself into some sort of mundane existence focusing everything on his work. I know he loved my mother, and when she died, it was like a part of him died along with her, but I don't think he even realized that my brothers and I desperately needed him," she sighed deeply. "Perhaps if anything, it was selfish of him to withdraw himself from us when we depended on his strength. Today, all he does is work, and I don't think I even know him, because I never see him. Sure he takes care of me; I have enough to eat, and clothing to wear, but I don't have his love, and I miss that more than you can imagine."

"Why don't you try talking to him?" Vincent asked.

"When? He leaves the apartment before I get up for school, and then when I come home, the place is empty. My father is at work until really late at night, and then when he does come home, I'm already in bed asleep," she said softly. "I had hoped that he would want to see me after the book came out. I thought maybe he wouldn't have to worry so much about the business if there was money coming in from something else. I thought maybe he would stop working so much, and that I would become his little girl again; but that didn't happen. It seems that regardless of the book, it has only continued to isolate him."

She rested her hand on his shoulder. "If my book hadn't have done it, then there would have been something else that did. He refuses to look at me because I am a reminder to him. I often wonder if I should just leave home and let him continue to live his life without me forcing him to live with painful memories."

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked.

"The same afternoon the book came out, I had been at home rummaging around the apartment. During the last years, I had not been able to find even one photograph of my mother and could not understand why. I suppose it had something to do with what you had said when we spoke the day we met. Whatever the case, I started thinking about her and then something compelled me to try and find some sort of connection to her," Missy paused. "When I finally did, I discovered what it was that my father had been most afraid of."

"What?"

"I'll show you," Missy pulled a small snapshot from her pocket and handed it to him. "Look, this is the picture of my mother that I found. Tell me who she reminds you of."

Vincent took the photo from her and looked down at it. "She looks just like you."

Missy nodded, "to my father, looking at me is only a constant reminder of her and what he has lost. Nothing will change that, Vincent, not the book, the reporters, or even my status at school. Nothing will change the fact that he sees her in me, and sometimes I wish I could just disappear so he can forget."

"If he loved her, he won't ever forget her, Missy," Vincent said.

"Perhaps, but if I went away, then at least he would be able to let go."

He looked at the photo and then back at her, "your mother was a beautiful woman."

"I wish I could remember her better. The photo does help a little though," she said. "But, please believe me, I don't want you to think that you are at fault for what has happened. There's always going to be something that will keep my father and I separated, but the last person on this planet that could create that, would be you. What you have done for me outweighs everything. Vincent, you have helped me to understand what it is that has created a barrier between us. For that, I can at least move on, and I don't have to question it anymore."

Vincent nodded as he handed the photo back to her. "Thank you, Missy."

She looked down into the cavern and after a few moments, she looked back over at him. "Vincent."

"Yes?"

"You're not angry with me, are you?" she asked.

"Not angry, I feel a little regretful is all," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I was wrong," he said.

"But nobody's perfect, you are just as capable of making mistakes as I am," she said wrapping her arms around him.

"If your father could see just how special you truly are, he would love you as you should be loved," Vincent said softly holding her.

"Thank you," she smiled weakly.

"Will you forgive me?" he asked.

"Yeah, after all, you're only human," she smiled.

He looked at her somewhat skeptically, a small smile covering his face. "I am?"

She grinned somewhat sheepishly; "I see it in you, in your heart. You always said that that is where it matters."

He chuckled softly as he ruffled her hair.

"I remember the first day we met, I hadn't seen your face yet, but you were so kind to me, so caring. You had helped me get down from Mouse's trap and as I felt myself falling, you caught me and said 'don't worry, I've got you, I won't let you fall'. I threw my arms around you because you had offered me security when I was frightened. Then after I saw you, you still talked to me and you helped me to not be afraid. That was you that did this, you and your gentle nature. You taught me that there exists far more worth in a person than the exterior, and that the real beauty lies within. In spending that afternoon with me, you ended my search of finding someone who could fill the gap I had in my heart. You talked to me and made me believe that I was special, but I also know that if that beauty exists within me, then it must also exist in you as well."

"You have a good heart, Missy. Don't ever stop letting it guide you," he said.

"There was something else I wanted to tell you," she said softly. "It's about something I did this morning, after I woke up and saw you sitting next to my bed. You must have fallen asleep about the same time I did last night. Anyway, when I saw you sitting there, it reminded me of what you had said some time ago about promising to protect me. Sitting there, I saw you as my protector."

"I was asleep," he said smiling slightly. "I could have done very little to protect you in such a state. When I woke up, I noticed that you had put your quilt over me."

She nodded, "I did something else before I left the chamber."

"What did you do?"

"I gave you a kiss," she whispered and almost laughed when she saw the alarm in his eyes. "No, it's not what you think." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek the same way she had done when he had been asleep. "I only did that."

"Why did you?" he asked.

"Because you're my friend and I love you," she said simply. "I know there exists many kinds of love. The love you and Cathy share is perhaps more wonderful than anything else in this world. I mean, what I have with Mike is nice, but I'm just a kid, and I know that in time love will grow if it is meant to. Right now, I'm not really ready for romance, and though I know that Mike cares for me, my feelings for him haven't developed into such an intense romantic attraction," she paused taking a deep breath. "But, there's another kind of love, it's a sort of kinship, and in that way, I love you."

He nodded, but could see the tears in her eyes. "I love you too, Missy, in precisely the way you have just described, and I am deeply touched that you see me in this way," He hugged her gently.

Enfolded in his arms, Missy looked down into the cavern below where they were sitting. No more words were said; they simply sat in companionable silence.

* * *

Catherine came up the stairs and into the building where she lived late that afternoon. It had been a long day, and though she could see a number of reporters outside the building, she sighed with relief when she realized that the man at the door was not letting any of them inside.

She approached the elevator and pressed the button to go up to her apartment. As soon as the doors opened, she walked inside and rode up to her floor.

Stepping out once the doors opened again, she walked slowly towards the door to her apartment. As she reached the door, she was surprised to see Father standing next to her door, an envelope in his hand.

"Father, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course," she said quickly unlocking the door. She opened the door and went inside, he followed her.

Once she closed the door, he looked at her. "I am here because Andy came down last night and explained to me what was happening here. I believe it would be wise if we find an undetectable way to get Missy out of the tunnels on Sunday."

"I know, I've been thinking about that since I talked to him yesterday," she said. "So he did come see you?"

"Yes, he told me that he had overheard two reporters talking about Missy and was afraid that they had come here to harass you," he said.

"They're outside, but they haven't tried to come in yet, and though they did shout things at me as I was coming in, I wouldn't say they have necessarily been hassling me. I'm left to conclude that it has something to do with the fact that I have refused to speak to any of them and that probably annoys them more than if I were to shout things at them.

"How many are there?" he asked.

"Maybe six or seven, but most of them are harmless. These two women I told Vincent about on Friday, they have been horrible. They will not give up, and I have a feeling, the only way to get them away from Missy is for them to be up on charges. I might be able to obtain this by the end of the week, but it's a hard call because I don't really know yet if this would constitute stalking. Perhaps it will be easier once we get the two of them away from Missy," she answered and looked at Father intently. "I can always start looking into it tomorrow at work, and from what I understand, there are more witnesses from above that can possibly help."

"Do whatever it is you have to do, Catherine," he said.

"How is Missy doing?"

"Still very fragile," he said softly. "She had a nervous breakdown last night when she saw Andy again. Later she told Vincent about this nightmare she'd been having and if that wasn't enough, she had another one last night and woke up screaming. Vincent sat up with her through the night, and then he went off this morning alone. I'm worried about both of them. It's clear to see that he feels increasingly responsible for her."

"I know, I told him last week that perhaps we should not have sent Missy's poem, but he said that things will happen as they are supposed to," Catherine said softly.

"Anymore, I don't think it's just the poetry that is getting to her. I think often that Missy is harboring far more than any one of us have yet to realize."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't really know, but something is telling me that Missy is under some other pressure, not from the book, but something much deeper. I'm curious, did she happen to mention anything about her relations with her family when she spoke with you?"

"Not much, she rarely speaks of them at all," she answered.

"Have you met any of her family?"

"Only her oldest brother, Travis," Catherine said softly. "He said that the others were worried about her, but I didn't believe it. I could only sense that he was worried, nothing more."

Father nodded, "but there was no contact with her father or the other two brothers?"

"Nothing, and none of them have called here since Friday. No, wait, Travis called and asked if she had gotten enough sleep on Sunday, and that he would call again to find out where to pick her up at the end of the holidays," Catherine said softly. "Aside from that, the father or the other two brothers have not said anything. It's sad, really, Missy is such a unique girl, but yet she's lacking something really fundamental in her life. I think she misses some kind of feeling of belonging somewhere."

"Yes, I have noticed her the last days, she has taken to life in the tunnels as though she has always belonged there. She helps as though she lives there, even though she is our guest. She has even borrowed clothing from Jamie which makes her look as though she is one of our children." Father looked at Catherine. "And Vincent..."

"What about him?" she asked.

"She told me this morning that he's like a father to her," he said. "Something is missing with her, and the longer she is there, the more it comes out. It seems as though she has tried to hide it for so long."

"Vincent will help her," Catherine said softly, "her connection to him is powerful, the friendship strong."

"Perhaps they will help each other, but I wonder the longer she is with us, how she will endure returning to her life above," he said. "She and I have spoken often to one another and she sees much of the things above that I have been skeptical of."

"Did you say anything about your feelings about this? I mean about life up here and your criticism of it?" Catherine asked.

"No, not a word."

"Then I wonder where she reached these conclusions," Catherine mused.

"I don't know," he replied. "I worry still about her return to the life above."

"She will be able to overcome it, Father, she's very strong willed," Catherine said softly. "She'll have friends who will help her and she will recognize them."

"I hope you are right," he said.

"Vincent had said this when we had a similar conversation," she said softly. "But, it will work out for her, it just has to," Catherine said softly. "She's had enough pain in her life, she needs no more."

Father nodded. It had taken some time for him to acknowledge the connection between Missy and Vincent, but now that he saw it, he would never allow himself to do anything that would damage it. "Catherine, I think I know how to get Missy back above at the end of the week."

"How?" she could not help but ask.

"Andy," he said assuredly. "You have his number, don't you?"

"I'll call him tonight," she said. "Could you tell Vincent that I'm thinking of him?"

"He probably already knows, but I'll tell him."

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Andy was waiting at the Central Park entrance for Missy to come out so he could take her home. He watched the entrance and could see various tunnel children coming out to play, and after seeing them, he was suddenly caught up with his own memories. "Andy?"

He turned around and could see Father coming towards the entrance, Missy was standing behind him her eyes obviously adjusting to the sunlight. Jamie was standing next to her, and he could see the tears in the eyes of the teenager.

His attention turned to Missy; she looked strong, as though Vincent or Father had given her some sort of pep talk before bringing her to meet him. Her eyes, though sad, regarded him as she came slowly out of the tunnel only stopping to give Father and Jamie one last hug. The words were not there, and Andy was left only to surmise that if Missy had spoken, she would probably had started to cry.

He smiled weakly at Father, "I'll take you home," he said. "Catherine called your brother last night, so we don't have to take you back to her place. Travis said that I could bring you home."

Missy nodded numbly as she turned back to face Father and Jamie one last time. This isn't 'good-bye', she thought sadly, it's a 'see you later', but why does it feel so final?

"Bye, Missy," Jamie said. "See you soon."

Father smiled, "take care of yourself, my dear, make sure you eat right and get enough rest."

She nodded as she looked down at the ground.

"I'll check in on her periodically, Father," Andy promised and took her hand and led her through the park in the direction of his car.

"Do you want to go to the planetarium with me before I take you home?" He asked. "I heard they were doing a presentation on Mars."

Missy shook her head, "maybe another time," she said softly. "Is that OK?"

"Yeah," he offered. "I suppose you have more on your mind than stars and planets, huh?"

"I guess," she whispered.

"Are you still afraid, Missy?" he asked.

"Maybe just a little," she said.

"You have no reason to be now, everything is going to be fine."

"Thank you for coming and getting me. I didn't know what I would do if Cathy had gotten into trouble on my account," she said.

"I don't think she would have, but she's pretty tough anyway, so I don't suspect that it would have not been much of a problem. There is some news that I think you might be interested in knowing though," he said softly.

"What?"

"Those two women reporters that I had overheard in park, the ones that had been following you and Catherine, are now up on charges. Catherine's office is prosecuting them on various counts of stalking and harassment. I don't know what will come of it, but Catherine told me that they were trying to make contact with some other people who had been harassed by the media, and from the looks of it, they will probably make an example out of this case."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Catherine couldn't go into details, but she discovered more dirt on those two than you can imagine. All I can tell you are that the problems you have been having with reporters should begin to lighten up now. I did drive by Catherine's and there weren't any more reporters there last night, but we thought it would still be safer to get you home as we had planned."

"But how is that possible that they would be arrested? They hadn't assaulted me or anything," Missy said.

"True, but they have been following you. This act alone has made you afraid, and from what I have been able to surmise, it has also been emotionally taxing on you. I'll tell you this, as far as those two are concerned, I wouldn't worry anymore about them trailing you, right now they have their own personal problems to contend with."

"What do you mean?"

"I did my own share of snooping around during the last days, and you'd be surprised with what I discovered. There were some other people they have done this to as well, actors who have come into town for some convention or another, and then I heard that one of the singers in a musical on Broadway had been trailed," he paused. "What I'm trying to say is that there seems to be a lot of stories that had written about you as well as these other individuals and all of them have been proven false. Catherine said that she has already found some possible lawyers who would represent you in this regard. She also told me that she had contacted the lawyers representing the prominent people that have endured this type of intrusion and apparently they are going to work together to see that this garbage will stop."

Missy nodded trying to take this information in, "you mean?"

"You should be able to sleep at night, eat right, and see your friends without any more trouble," Andy said softly.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't thank me," he said gently. "I didn't do much, the people you should be thanking are Catherine and her boss, Joe Maxwell. They're the ones that pushed the issue."

As they reached his car and got in, Missy turned to face Andy, "I had been so scared that things weren't going to work out, and now I think they will."

"Yeah," Andy said, "but there is something I need to ask you. I know that we've been talking about reporters and stuff, but I need to ask you if you would be willing to come with me to speak to my boss?"

"Why?"

"He listened to the interview I had with you and he was deeply moved by some of the things you said. I have spoken to him about this and he has promised to work with you instead of against you," Andy said. "I'll be there with you, so if too much gets into promises and secrets; then I can bail you out. I've had my share of being a smooth-talker, so you don't have to worry about that."

"I'll do it," she said.

"Are you sure you want to?"

"I think so, besides, I know that you wouldn't put me in any danger. You're my friend, and I do trust you," she said smiling shyly.

"Thanks, Missy, that means a lot to me, not just that you're a life saver, but that you also know that you can trust me. I guess with Mr. Franklin, I could have gone back and told him you didn't want to, but he may not have handled it very well. I think internally he wants you to see whatever we decide to print about you, and because he has a son your age, he probably has a better understanding of what you feel about this stuff."

Missy nodded, "when should we go meet him?"

"How about tomorrow afternoon. I can pick you up at school if you want," he offered.

"Can we meet on Tuesday? Mike will be back tomorrow, and I kinda would like to spend some time with him," she said.

"OK, we'll meet Tuesday then, that way I can tell Mr. Franklin and have him prepare for the visit." Andy said as he pulled up in front of her apartment building. "Take care of yourself, Missy. I'll see you in a couple of days."

She nodded and got out of the car. It was quiet as she walked up the walk and reached the door to the apartment. When she looked around expecting to see reporters, she smiled when she discovered that the area was now empty.


	19. Part 3, Chapter 1

_a/n: Yes, I know that the DA generally works for the state, and doesn't have clients in this sense, but I thought at the time of writing that it would be a perfect way to bring Catherine more actively into the story. I hope that that little discrepency doesn't deter you folks from reading this. Part three is the last part to the story, and there won't be as many chapters there as in part two. That is, this story is starting to wind down. _

**

* * *

Part 3**

**Chapter 1**

Mike walked into the school the following morning. He had yet to see Missy since they had flown back the previous afternoon and he was curious about what had happened to her during the time he had been in Texas. As he came down the hall towards the door leading into their science class, he saw her standing in the hall. "Missy!" he called out and she turned around.

"Mike!" she ran over to him and gave him a hug. "I've missed you, how was your trip?"

"It was great, my grandma gave me this and asked me to get you to sign it for her. She's addicted to poetry," he said smiling as he held a copy of Missy's book.

"I'll sign it, but let's get to class before the bell rings. I don't want to spend my first day with you in over a week stuck in detention," she smiled and ran her hand down the front of the shirt she was wearing. It was the shirt Jamie had given to her as a going away present and Missy smiled when she thought of the young girl she had befriended while spending the week in the tunnels.

"Cool shirt, where'd you get it?" he asked noticing how she was dressed.

"It was given to me by a friend," she said. "Some of my friends are really into the renaissance, and they make these kinds of clothes. I had told her that I liked it, so she gave it to me. Neat huh?"

"I love it," Mike said. "It suits you."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Come on, or we'll be late."

"You've changed, what happened to you over Spring Break anyway?" he asked.

Missy smiled, "a lot of things happened, good things. The reporters have stopped hounding me, and Andy is going to help my cause by writing an article for the magazine he works for about how the media can be cold and heartless when dealing with people."

"Who's Andy?" Mike asked.

"Are you jealous?" Missy teased smiling mischievously.

"No, should I be?"

Missy laughed. "No, you have really no reason. Andy's 30 years old, and is this guy who interviewed me the day I gave you the letter to take to Catherine. We met last Monday, and then we talked again yesterday. We've become friends, and he and Catherine have been working together trying to help get the reporters off my back. I heard that they found some dirt on them, so it's a nice change," Missy said.

"So, basically things should be getting back to normal for you, right?" Mike asked.

"Well, normal in that I won't have to deal with reporters anymore, but there's still something else that has happened that I hadn't mention to you. It's about my dad," she said as they walked into the classroom. "But can we talk about it later, I don't really want to get into it here?"

Mike smiled, "OK, as long as you sign this book for my grandma, so she'll get off my case."

"What's her name?" Missy asked once she had sat down. She reached over, took the book, and opened it.

"Holly," Mike answered. "See, she doesn't believe for an instant that the 'famous' Missy Parks is my girlfriend."

Missy laughed as she began to write and when the bell rang, she handed the book back to Mike, who opened it.

_To Holly, your grandson, Mike, is really my boyfriend...Missy Parks_

She handed the book back to him as the teacher walked into the classroom. "That should do it," she said smiling coyly.

Mike opened the book and once he had read what she had written, he blushed.

* * *

That afternoon after Missy got out of gym, she walked towards the classroom where Mike had his last class. Before she had reached the room, one of the vice-principals approached her. "Missy, Mr. Bowen needs to see you for a minute."

She looked into the green eyes of the woman who had approached her. "Am I in some kind of trouble, Mrs. Johnson?"

"No, your lawyer is here and has been interviewing him about the reporters who had been harassing you. Could you please come?" the woman asked.

"Well, I was supposed to meet Mike. Can I go and get him and then I'll come, I promise," she said. "Besides, Mike has seen what was going on, so my lawyer would probably want to speak to him as well."

The woman rubbed her chin, "yes I suppose you're right, just come as soon as you are able, OK?"

"I will," Missy said and practically ran down the hall in the direction of where she was to meet Mike. As she reached the open door, she stuck her head inside and could see Mike stacking his books and shoving them under his arm. "Hey Mike."

"Hey Missy, why don't we go for an ice cream?"

"I can't right now, Mrs. Johnson just came and asked me to go to Mr. Bowen's office. I have to interview with my lawyer, but could you come with me? Maybe you can tell them what you had seen," she said.

"Sure, then we'll do ice cream," he said and together they left the classroom and walked down the hall towards the office of the principal. "What do you suppose this is about?"

"The reporters, there have been charges filed against them for harassment," Missy said.

"Do you think the cops'll listen? I mean you're just a kid?" He asked.

"Well, maybe so, but it's not just me that has witnessed this, I'm guessing Mr. Bowen and some of the other administration here have also seen what has happened as well as Cathy and Andy," Missy said. "I didn't know it had reached this point until yesterday, though."

"Well, I'm definitely curious about what they intend to do about it, so let's go see what's up," he said.

They walked towards the office, and when they reached the lobby, the secretary greeted them and opened the door so they could go inside. As they came in, Missy gasped when she saw Catherine seated in the office. She smiled weakly at her friend, but addressed the principal. "Mr. Bowen, Mrs. Johnson told me that I was supposed to come and speak to you."

"Yes, Missy, please sit down," he nodded in the direction of a seat. When he said nothing to Mike, the boy sat down on the arm of the couch in the back of the small office.

As soon as they were seated, Missy looked at Catherine. "I thought your boss was going to be here or that one of your contacts was going to take this case."

"Nope, Joe put me on your case. He said I knew you better," Catherine said. "You're not disappointed, are you?"

Missy shook her head. "I must admit when we were running from those ladies at your office the Friday school let out, I was certain that you had been joking."

Catherine smiled. "In a way, I was, but afterwards, I got to thinking about it, and did some research last week on it, and I discovered that there was more to then incident than simply overzealous reporters and a poetic prodigy." She took a deep breath and looked at the principal. "I would still appreciate an answer to my last question, Mr. Bowen."

"Ms. Chandler, I'm not exactly following what happened on that day or how it could possibly pertain to me," Bowen said assuredly.

Missy shook her head looking at the principal, "If you're wondering if I can remember anything about what happened, I do remember one of these women saying that Mr. Bowen had given them permission to come on campus," she turned to face the principal. "With all due respect, Mr. Bowen, they claimed to have spoken to you, so I can see why someone would wish to speak to you in this regard and that it would pertain to you."

Bowen looked at Missy somewhat surprised. "You do not even know the question that has been raised, Missy."

Mike looked at him coming to Missy's defense. "You know, I remember quite well that they had been on campus everyday since the book came out. I also found myself trying to help Missy elude them, which was, by the way, harder than trying to ride a bucking bronco. I saw 'em at their family business, too, and even overheard Mr. Parks swearin' about them and why they were always hangin' around."

Catherine turned to Mike, "You had?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I sure did," he said. "I don't get it. Why would you tell those barracudas that they could come on campus to harass Missy anyway? You know that reporters have no respect for privacy, and besides that, Missy should feel safe here."

Bowen looked at the boy, "I think I've heard quite enough, Mike, you can leave this office right now."

"Wait a minute," Catherine spoke up. "Mr. Bowen, I just asked you the same exact question right before they came in, though perhaps in different words, and you did not try to send me away. I will also say that you failed to give me any sort of acceptable answer to this question."

"I will assure you, Ms. Chandler, I have done nothing wrong. I have simply done my best at trying to run this school, all the while dealing with a kid who has suddenly gotten too big for her britches."

Missy looked at him, her eyes widening. "Mr. Bowen, I have done nothing to deserve the treatment I have received here. I was an outcast, and treated poorly while the other kids got away with it because of their status. When the book came out, I never thought about getting anything for nothing, though I suddenly became popular. I don't want popularity, I simply want my privacy, and you, Sir, denied me that when you allowed those two reporters to come on campus."

Catherine looked up from her notes, and made eye contact with the principal. "Mr. Bowen, Missy has been anything but arrogant about this situation. She has been harassed and a literal toy for the press. She has been anything but how did you render it 'too big for her britches'? I would guess if she was what you said, then she would find that she was too smart for this school, and she would have quit," Catherine said. "I will tell you this, after just spending twenty minutes trying to get an adequate answer from you regarding why those two reporters were even allowed on campus, Mike Ross comes into this office and asked the exact same question. You proceeded to try and kick him out without offering him any sort of explanation to what is going on and why his friend must endure this abuse. Do you not think that perhaps this three-ring circus is effecting him as well?"

"Ms. Chandler, these are kids," Bowen began.

"Yes, and they are practically teenagers. They are, in fact, old enough to make decisions about whom they wish to speak with. I can assure you, Mr. Bowen, Missy Parks is capable, and from what I have learned about Mike Ross, he is as well. I am under the distinct impression that because these are kids that you feel that you have the right to say such a thing to them, which indicates your doubt of their capability to decide for themselves, what is right. Furthermore, because she is a child, you believe that you have the right to determine whom she speaks to? You are the school Principal, but you Sir, are not her father, and you have no right to tell strangers like those two reporters that Missy Parks is available for their media feeding frenzy. Perhaps you feel that this situation would shine a light on your professional career, but I assure you, this will not be the case. And if I have anything to say about it, it will damage it."

Catherine stood up and reached for her briefcase, "I believe I have all the information I need from you. My office will be in touch with you, Mr. Bowen. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to take my client and her friend somewhere where we can speak about what has transpired here."

Missy and Mike both stood up and followed Catherine out of the office. "The nerve of that guy," Mike said angrily as soon as they had walked outside.

"Calm down," Catherine said gently. "I deal with those types everyday."

"I guess so, but man, that makes me so angry I could spit," he looked at Missy.

Catherine smiled at the impulsive words of Missy's friend. "You have a way with words, Mike."

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, I thought he was supposed to do things to help and look out for us, but now it seems like he's gone and knifed us in the back."

Missy sighed deeply and she looked at Catherine. "What now?"

"We're going to have a nice talk the three of us, and then I will go and have a chat with your father," she said.

"He won't want to talk about this," she said softly.

"He's not going to have much of a choice," Catherine said sympathetically. "He is not only a witness, but he has to give me assurances that you will be able to speak openly about what has happened. After all, he is your legal guardian."

Missy sighed deeply and looked at them helplessly. "Maybe you should talk to my brother instead. He knows more about what has happened than my father."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"My father wants nothing to do with me. We live together, but I never see him, and if I do, he looks at me as though he cannot stand the sight of me," she looked at her friend.

Catherine nodded, "well, we'll see what happens, but chances are, I have to speak to them anyway."

"Ms. Chandler, what's going to happen with this?" Mike asked.

"Call me Cathy, Mike, and to answer your question, I don't really know," she said. "I thought Mr. Bowen intended on being more cordial about this, but he's acting like..."

"A horse's butt, maybe?" Mike interrupted.

Missy began to laugh out loud, "don't you just love his Texas slang?"

Catherine nodded and smiled. "Listen, we'll talk to your dad tomorrow, OK?"

"I can't," Missy said. "I told Andy I'd get together with him about the story. He wanted to introduce me to his editor."

Catherine nodded, "OK, then I'll go see your father alone, then. Sound good?"

Missy nodded.

"Ms.--uh, I mean Cathy, can I come with you?" Mike asked.

"You'd have to ask my client," Catherine said softly.

Missy nodded, smiling. "It's OK with me."


	20. Part 3, Chapter 2

**Part 3**

**Chapter 2**

That night, Catherine sat in her apartment going over the notes for the case she had against the two reporters, Thelma Rhodes and Marcie Thomas. Up until now they had been simply faces of reporters who have shoved everything, including privacy, aside in the name of getting a story.

Sighing deeply, she continued to shuffle the pages around and did not seem to notice that Vincent had arrived on her balcony and was now tapping on the window. She turned around when the tapping started and went to open the door.

"Vincent, I'm so glad to see you. It seems like forever since we've been together." She said once she had opened the door. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Hello, Catherine," he spoke softly as he held her tightly in his embrace. "How are you?"

"Pretty good," she said smiling, "now. I've missed you so much. I wanted to come see you while Missy was below, but I couldn't risk it. You know I was thinking of you?"

Vincent smiled, "yes, I knew, because I too was thinking of you." They loosened their embrace and Vincent looked inside the living room from the balcony door. He could see that the coffee table was loaded down with stacks of folders and papers. "What is all the stuff on your table?"

"They are the files about those two reporters that had chased Missy and me all over town the day you took her below," Catherine explained. "I've been working on this case for the last week. We found some evidence linking those two women to a number of stalking cases that had been filed with the police. I've been trying to get my notes in order to present all the information to Joe tomorrow morning."

"How is Missy?"

"She's fine, boy a week down there, and she's become a regular spitfire," Catherine said.

"I don't understand," Vincent said.

"You should have been there today at the principal's office at her school. She and Mike were incredible," Catherine began. "She did not back down once, she spoke without any fear, and I really didn't expect it at all. Did you say something to her to make her suddenly become so bold? She's like another person."

Vincent smiled in spite of himself. "I said nothing, Catherine. Missy is quite vocal when she speaks to others, it seems. She accused me of being a macho a week ago."

"What?" Catherine looked at Vincent to see if he was kidding with her. When she noticed that the serious look he had given her was unchanging, she sat down in the doorway and looked up at him. "This I gotta hear."

Vincent fidgeted somewhat uncomfortably and sat down next to her. "I simply told her that I was sorry that we had interfered with her life when we had sent the poem, and that I blamed myself for it."

"Let me guess, after you apologized, you ended up going off alone. Later, she found you and tried to talk to you," Catherine said softly. "I guess in a way I could feel your sadness last week, and I wanted so much to go below and see you. Father had come up last Tuesday though, and had talked to me about the situation."

"Yes, he did tell me of this visit," Vincent said.

"Why did she call you a macho?"

"I don't know, I am guessing that she could see through my pride," he said. "But, she looked at me squarely in the eyes and said, 'I can't stand machos'."

"Then what happened?" Catherine asked trying to stifle her amusement.

"She said that machos irritate her, and she added that you would probably agree," he said.

Catherine laughed out loud, "that's pretty bold. You were angry with her, weren't you?"

"I do not know if I was angry, but I was certainly surprised," he said. "It came completely unexpected."

"In a way I can understand her words. I mean, you have always been strong for others and have not accepted their strength in return," Catherine said softly. "What happened after that?"

"We started to speak about her family," Vincent replied. "She told me some rather surprising things about them as well as how she felt about being below."

"What about her family?" Catherine asked. "When I mentioned her father earlier, she said that he wouldn't want to talk to me and that I should probably speak to her brother. I cannot understand any of this. As a father, shouldn't he want to know what is happening to his daughter?" She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. "I had told Father that aside from Missy's brother, Travis, no one in her family had even bothered to call. There was no contact between us from the time that Father had come here, and when Missy left the tunnels yesterday. I mean, Travis did call to make the arrangements, but then I got to thinking as far as her father was concerned, this was something like neglect, isn't it?"

"Missy has been dealing with feelings of resentment by her father and brothers for years now. She said that it has been this way ever since her mother died," Vincent said softly.

"How did she speak of this? I mean, was she crying or upset."

"No, as strange as it might sound, she was very calm, but I could see that there existed a great deal of pain in her words, Catherine," Vincent said softly. "The day you felt my sadness, I was sitting on the bridge overlooking the whispering caverns and she had come there to speak to me. I had somehow shoved her away, but she put her hand on my shoulder and sat down with me. During our conversation, she told me that she saw me as her father figure and that she loved me. It was similar to the note she wrote, and I had thought she was only reacting to the actions of the reporters or her status in school, but this was not the case. She's been trying to find her place not only above, but with her family, and over the past week, she has discovered that even though she knows why things are like they are, she has learned to cope with it through her own internal strength."

"It is really no wonder Father was so worried about her, he had seen how she had taken to life in the tunnels and somehow we had believed that it was because of the poetry."

Vincent nodded, "yes, she feels even more isolated from her family, and there is not much that can be done about it," he said. "She said it wouldn't have mattered if she had done the book or not, the reason behind everything that has happened with her family is based on something she has no control over."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"She looks just like her mother, Catherine. She carries a photograph of her mother everywhere she goes, and from what I understand; her father is completely unaware of this. The pain has made her family shove her aside as though she doesn't belong. She told me that sometimes she would rather just disappear so that her father wouldn't suffer anymore when he looks at her."

"Oh wow, I knew there was something, but I had no idea," Catherine stood up and walked towards the lights of the city. When she reached the wall, she rested her arms on top of it and looked outside. "How much more is she going to have to endure? Can't life just treat her right for a change?"

Vincent stood up, went over to her, and wrapped her securely in his arms. "She is much stronger now, Catherine, you mustn't worry, she will be able to overcome all of these challenges. Now, she knows that her friends will not abandon her and that is the most significant thing there is."

"I know you're right, but still," she held tightly to him. "I guess I'm the one that needs some of that strength she has."

"You have it, you always will," Vincent said softly.

"Only because you have given it to me somehow," she said.

"No, I have done nothing, Catherine, it is within you, just as it is within Missy," he said brushing his lips across her cheek.

"You always know the right things to say, and tomorrow I have to go and speak to her father about those reporters, and I hope that in knowing this, I hope I won't say something that will have negative repercussions on her," Catherine said softly.

Vincent nodded, "follow your heart, Catherine. I will inform Father as to what is happening and we will see what we can do after this meeting is behind you."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Would you like some tea?"

"I must go soon," he said softly.

"Oh Vincent, please stay, I have missed you terribly," she said softly.

He smiled and maintained his hold on her. "I'll stay."

* * *

Missy woke the following morning to hear sounds emerging through the apartment. She pushed the blankets aside and crawled out of bed. As she came out of her room, she could see Travis in the hallway. "Travis, what are you doing here? I thought you would be at work."

"Dad and I had a falling out last night," he said. "Missy, can we talk?"

"Yeah, what time is it?" she asked rubbing her eyes.

"It's six," he said. "Dad, Matt, and Justin went to work about half an hour ago."

"Why are you here?"

"Because, I'm moving out," he said simply. "I can't take anymore."

"Anymore what?" Missy asked, "I don't understand."

Travis ran his hand through his hair. "Missy, I didn't tell anyone about this, but I had put an application for a job as a trainee at a radio station. They called the shop yesterday looking for me and Dad had answered the phone. I wasn't there, and they left a message for me with him saying that I could start immediately."

"That's great though, I always knew that you wanted to work with music," she said. "But what does that have to do with Dad?"

"There is something connecting it, Dad was completely fuming about this, Missy," Travis said softly. "He started yelling at me about family loyalty and that they needed me at the shop," he sighed deeply. "We've always been close, Missy, and you've known for a long time that I wanted to do something besides simply work in this business for the rest of my life. I applied for the job back in February, and it's a chance I never thought I would get. You know I dropped out of school to go to work, because Dad pressured me to. Then I stayed for over four years thinking I didn't deserve better. When I applied for this job, I talked to a guy who understood this, and he said when I called him back that they wanted me regardless of my educational background and he even said that the station would help me get my GED as well as train me as a disc jockey." Travis' face shone with excitement, as he looked down at his little sister. "Missy, you know that I don't want to be in the dry cleaning business for the rest of my life."

"You don't have to explain this to me, Travis," she said softly.

"You know I do, though," he said. "I've always looked out for you. Remember when you were at Catherine's and I came and brought that stuff?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Missy, Dad and the others didn't say anything about you, they didn't even know that you were away. They didn't seem to care at all," Travis said. "The forty dollars I gave you came from my own pocket, not from Dad or the others."

"Do you want it back, I still have it?" she asked. "Maybe you need it for a new apartment."

"No, you keep it," he said softly. "The fact is I've been playing the fool, living in denial about what has happened. I'm not blind Missy, I know what has happened, and part of the reason I had stayed here so long is because of you, and how Dad and the others have treated you."

"But I know now why they do, Travis, maybe now it will be easier," she said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"The day my book came out, I had hoped that you and the others would stop working so much. It was the only reason I had put so much energy into it," she wiped the tears from her eyes. "The book was doing good, and everything seemed right. Then I came home from school and started looking around the apartment for something very special to me." She pulled the photograph from the pocket of her robe and handed it to her brother.

"You found a picture of Mom," he said softly.

"You remember her, I don't, but look at me, Travis," she said softly, her voice cracking. "I look just like her. I could shave my head or dye my hair, and nothing will change, I will still remind them of what they have lost. I cannot put a bag over my head to make them love or accept me."

"They do love you, Missy, just in their own way," Travis said softly.

"Do they, or am I just a reminder to them of what could have been?" She looked down at her feet shaking her head. "No, I don't believe it," she paused taking a deep breath. "Travis, you can't stop living because of me. Take this job, be happy, find love, get married, and lead the life you were meant to lead. I don't need you to protect me from the truth, because that I am aware of."

"Missy, I don't know what to say," he began.

"You don't have to say anything. I'll be OK, but I may run. For the first time in my life, I actually have someplace to run to," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I can't tell you, but all you need to know is that I have people who will be there for me, and will give me what my own family is not capable of giving," she said softly.

"Missy, you'll always be my little sister," he said.

"I need more than to just be your little sister, Travis, and I know you need more, too," she whispered.

"I know you do," he said. "That's why I don't blame you for wanting to run."

"I will call Mike's dad and ask him if they can have the money from the book sent to you," she said. "Just give me the address of where you'll be staying."

"But you'll need it for college or something," Travis objected.

"Then when you get settled, have the money put into a separate account and when I'm 18, I'll use it to get my education," Missy said softly.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?" Travis asked. "The others think that you're going to put it into the shop."

"I figured they would, but the truth is, nothing will change. I will be told I should drop out of school when I turn 16, I will have no choice but to go to work in the shop. I don't want to, I've been isolated long enough and you said yourself that I'm more than just a pair of hands. If they can only love and accept the money, and not me, then why should I give it to them?"

Travis nodded, "you have to do what you feel is right."

"Just like you," she said and smiled. "I'm cutting school today, I have some things I have to do."

Travis nodded and smiled. "Here's the address where I'll be staying, it's with a friend of mine. When I get settled in my own place, I'll get in touch with you."

Missy nodded giving her brother a hug, "good luck, Travis. Keep Cathy's address with you, OK?"

He nodded and as he turned around and grabbed the suitcase, Missy could feel the tears beginning to brim underneath her eyes. She watched as Travis walked slowly back down the hall and when he opened the front door and stepped outside of the apartment closing it behind him, the tears were now falling freely from her eyes.

She went into the living room and picked up the telephone. Once she dialed Mike's number, she could hear his father answer. "Mr. Ross, I'm sorry to be calling so early, this is Missy Parks."

"Missy, how are you doing?" Herbert Ross asked.

"Not so good, but I need to talk to you, can you come by?"

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?" he asked.

"Something has happened, and I need to talk to you about the money and my book," Missy said softly. "I've never cut school before, but today I have to. Can you come by before you go to work?"

"OK, give me about half an hour, do you want me to put Mike on?"

"Yes, thanks," she said and once Mike had picked up the phone, she explained to him that she would not be in school and that she had some things to do that day.

Once she got off the phone, she walked down the hallway and got dressed; putting on the same shirt she had worn the day before. Once she had done that, she sighed deeply as she picked up her brush and began to pull it through her hair.

Twenty minutes later, she could hear the doorbell and went to let Mike's father in.


	21. Part 3, Chapter 3

_Thanks and kudoes to my readers and reviewers. You all are so awesome._

**

* * *

Part 3**

**Chapter 3**

Catherine arrived at her office some time later; she had been up much of the night going through the files she had on this case regarding the two reporters. She couldn't stop thinking about the conversation she had had with Vincent about Missy, and she was somewhat worried about going to see Missy's father that day. She had said that Mike could go with her, but now she wished that the boy had not insisted on it.

She stood up when she saw that Joe had arrived, and now she knew that she would have to give him the information she had managed to uncover in this case. Picking up the files, she walked towards his office.

When she reached the door, she knocked and opened the door slightly. "Good morning, I brought the files I have on the Rhodes / Thomas case."

"What did you find out?"

"The principal at Missy's school has basically been a horse's butt about the entire incident in question," Catherine said abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I meant to say that he was rude and completely disrespectful to Missy and her friend, Mike," Catherine said. "After I dropped them off at Missy's apartment last night, I spent much of the evening working on these files, but there wasn't much else I could find."

"Just keep at it, Radcliffe, we're going to get them eventually," Joe said confidently. "Did you get anymore information from the other lawyers involved?"

"Not a thing, but they did say that they would call me when they get the information about their specific cases."

"I'm certain that everything will jell out," Joe said.

"I'm glad you're so confident about that, because right now I really am at a loss. This guy Bowen basically treated Missy and Mike as though they had no right to speak openly, simply because they are kids."

"Tell me exactly what happened," Joe asked.

For the next twenty minutes, Catherine explained everything that had happened when she had gone to the school. "Mike had even asked one of the questions I had posed, and then Bowen threatened him. I'd be surprised if Mike didn't find himself suspended when he goes to school."

"That bad?"

"Yeah, it's that bad," Catherine said.

"So what do have on the agenda today?" Joe asked.

"I will probably go to the business owned by Missy's family and try to talk to her father," she said. "Maybe I can get some more adequate answers from him."

"OK, well get to it, and keep me posted," Joe said and Catherine left the copies of the files she had collected on his desk and walked slowly outside of the office.

As she was walking down the hall towards the elevator, she began to think once again about what had happened with Missy's family. Before she could press the button to go downstairs, Joe appeared in the doorway of his office, "Hey, wait, Missy's on the phone."

Catherine looked down at her watch, but made her way back in the direction of his office. "Isn't she supposed to be in school?"

"I don't know, maybe she's sick today. Whatever the case, she's on the phone and wants to talk to you. She says it's urgent," Joe said.

Catherine nodded and followed him into his office and once she picked up the phone she began to speak. "Missy?"

"Cathy, something's happened," Missy's voice was soft, but filled with so much determination that she had barely recognized it.

"What's wrong?"

"Travis is gone," she said softly.

"What!"

"He moved out this morning, there was a falling out between him and my father last night when he agreed to take a new job," Missy said softly. "He said that he knew what was happening with my family, and that he couldn't take anymore of it."

"Are you OK?" Catherine asked.

"I guess so, I mean, Travis has always been different from the others. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I've already called Mr. Ross from Varient Publishers and arranged for the money to be sent to Travis for the sale of the book. Travis has already promised me that he would put it away for when I'm ready to go to college."

"Missy, where are you?"

"At home, but I'm going to leave as soon as I get back from talking to Andy and his editor and get packed. I don't belong here anymore."

"Missy, wait!" Before she could say anything else, Missy had hung up the phone. As she hung the phone up, she turned to Joe. "I'll go to see Missy's father later, I have to take care of something else."

"What happened?"

"She's running away," Catherine said. "I have to stop her," she paused. "I'll be back here this afternoon and can go to their shop then, right now I have to find out what is happening."

"Do you know where she is planning to go?" Joe asked.

"No, but I have an idea," she said as she ran quickly out of the office, down the hall to the elevator.

* * *

Missy stood in front of the large building where the magazine 'Expression' was housed. She had taken the subway to get there and figured that once she had kept this appointment, she would be able to leave this place with a clear conscience.

As she walked slowly towards the door leading inside, she sighed deeply as she watched the sunlight reflecting off the glass buildings. The light reminded her of a prism, which would reflect rainbows of light around her room. She reached the door leading inside, and opened it. As she came to the information desk she spoke. "Good morning."

The woman at the desk nodded, "yes, can I help you?"

"My name is Missy Parks, I'm a friend of Andy Hudson, one of the reporters for 'Expression'," she said softly. "Is he in, I need to speak to him?"

"Yes, of course, Miss Parks, please, take a seat and I will inform him that you are here," the woman said and picked up a intercom telephone and dialed.

Missy made her way over to the sofa and sat down.

Ten minutes later, an older man stepped outside of the elevator and walked over to her. "Miss Parks?"

Missy looked up and when she did not recognize the man, she nodded hesitantly.

"My name is Bernard Franklin, I'm the editor of 'Expression'," he introduced himself.

"Where's Andy?" she asked.

"He's out researching a story, I didn't expect to see you here until this afternoon," he began. "Would you come with me?"

She nodded and stood up.

As they made their way to the stairwell and made their way in the direction of the office, she kept her head somewhat down. Once they reached the office and he opened the door, she looked up and entered.

"Won't you please sit down?" he offered.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're here early, can you tell me why?" he asked.

"I realized that I couldn't meet Andy this afternoon, but that I had promised to meet with you, and I didn't want to let anyone down," she said softly.

"I appreciate that," he said kindly as he took a tape recorder and turned it on. "May I tape this conversation?"

"I don't mind, Mr. Franklin, but I cannot tell you about my work, I can only tell you that I have written many poems, but all the themes are the same. They are about belonging somewhere, whether it is with people who care, or an emotion of completeness. It is something which many people spend their entire lives trying to find, and many fail."

"You speak very deeply," he said.

"I speak only from what I have experienced. I lost my mother when I was five years old, I only remember her from a photograph I had found. Ever since then, I have felt empty and alone. My poetry is my way of dealing with that thing which I cannot understand, her death, the extent of that loss, and even why I am the person I became when she had not been a part of me."

"Your poem, _'Treasured Friend'_, can you tell me what that is about?"

Missy sighed deeply before she began to speak. "_'Treasured Friend'_ is about an idea, of the most powerful and beautiful friendship that exists in the world. It does not necessarily have to be about a person, it can be merely be an idea or a wish. When you read it, what do you think about?"

"I suppose I think about trying to be not just a father, but also a friend to my son," he said.

"Then the meaning behind is special, right?" she asked and once he nodded she continued. "If I can write a story using poetry, and I can tell people about an idea I have, then surely as a reader of that work, it will hold some meaning to you, and even though you have simply read my words, these words will possess a power all their own. In your interpretation the beauty will always remain, because you're a special person and you have declared that meaning for yourself. So what does it matter what I have to say about it?"

Franklin was taken aback by her words. "Our readers are curious about what your meaning behind it is."

"I will tell you this," she began. "My meaning is about a friendship, one of the powerful and moving friendships that anyone could ever have. I will not speak of who this friend is, because it is only significant to me, but imagine the friend in your life who is more important than even yourself, and you will see that this friend is an honor and a gift from the heavens."

"You're speaking in symbolism," he said.

"Is poetry not made up of symbols and hidden images?" she asked.

He smiled, "yes, I suppose you are right."

"Then you must accept this as the answer to your question," she said softly.

Franklin turned the tape recorder off. "I can understand why Hudson, was so taken aback by your words, you do leave people with a lot of food for thought."

"Thank you," she said and stood up. "Do you have anymore questions for me?"

"No, I think any questions I may have had, I have forgotten," he said smiling. He stood up and came around the desk as she was walking towards the door. He extended his hand to her. "I will have Hudson transcribe this and he will bring you a copy of it before it goes to print."

"Thank you, Mr. Franklin," she said softly. "I appreciate that."

"Thank _you_, Miss Parks," he smiled, "and I will inform Mr. Hudson of your visit as soon as I see him, and will let him know that you are unable to meet with him this afternoon."

Missy nodded and walked slowly down the hall in the direction of the stairs.

* * *

Two hours after her talk with the editor, Missy opened the door to the apartment where she had been living for the last 12 years and walked slowly out into the hallway and down the stairs. When she finally stepped outside of the building, she adjusted the backpack, which was now hanging from her shoulders. She sighed deeply as she came down the steps and started to walk in the direction of the subway station. As she made her way, she had her head down, the sadness enveloping her as she walked slowly. I have done all that I have promised to do, and now there's really nothing left for me here, she thought to herself as she distanced herself from the only home she had ever known.

She continued down the street completely unaware that she was about to run into someone who was walking towards her in the opposite direction. She kept her head down until she realized that she had bumped into him.

"Excuse me," she mumbled backing up slightly but not even looking up to see whom it was she had run into.

"Missy!" the man said, and she looked up slowly when she suddenly recognized Father's voice.

"What are you doing here?" she asked weakly. She had never seen him in regular street clothes, and it almost took her a moment to even recognize him.

"Catherine came to see me after she spoke to you on the phone. She was worried about you, and told me about what had happened with your brother," he said softly. "She gave me your address and I came to see you." He looked at her and when he saw her large backpack hanging from her arms, he smiled gently. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

"I skipped," she said softly.

"Why?"

"I had some things I needed to do," she said.

"Like running away from home?" he asked. When she said nothing, he looked at her sympathetically. "Why don't we go upstairs and have a little talk?"

She looked down, but after some moments of hesitation, she shrugged her shoulders and nodded as she pulled the key from her pocket, and led him up the stairs to the front door.

Once they entered and had made their way up the stairs and inside the apartment, Father removed his hat, and she closed the door behind them. She leaned the backpack up against the door.

"What's going on, Missy?" he asked, his voice unusually stern as he was sitting down.

She looked down unable to meet his gaze, "I want to come back."

"Below?"

She nodded, her head still down.

"What happened?"

"My brother Travis is gone, Father, he left this morning," she said softly. "There was an argument between him and my father last night after he had told him that he was taking a job at a radio station. I don't really know what happened, all I know is that earlier when I got up to go to school, he was packing his things. He told me that he couldn't live here with this situation anymore and that he had taken a new job and was moving in with one of his friends."

"What did you tell him?" he asked gently.

"I told him that he has to do what was right for him, and that since he was no longer going to be here, that I would probably run away," she finally found the courage and looked at him. "He said that he understood why I would want to because he had seen over the years that my father resented me. I had told him that I only recently discovered why it was that he and my two brothers hated me," she said softly.

"You don't believe that your father loves you?"

She looked down, shamefaced, "I know he doesn't."

"What makes you so sure of that, Missy?" Father asked.

"I just am. When he looks at me, it's like he's looking right through me. Mike said he overheard my father talking trash about the book and me. All this time, I had wished that the book would be what would bring us back together," she said softly.

"How do you mean?" he asked trying to keep his voice soft.

"It was only during the last few weeks that I was reminded of the time in my life when everything in my life was complete. It was when my mother was there. After she died, my father got involved with his work, and that's all he did. Then my brothers got dragged into this lifestyle as well. I always knew that eventually Travis would have to leave. If he didn't, then he would have suffocated in this, and would have denied himself a great opportunity."

"You don't resent him?"

"No, I told him he had to go, and that he couldn't remain only because of me." As she spoke, she could feel the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away. "I didn't want to be selfish, Father."

"You're not," he said softly.

"Anyway, I guess I didn't really think about this so much until last week when Vincent brought me below for the week. For the first time, I felt a sense of completeness, something I haven't felt since I was five. I was able to feel as though I belonged somewhere, and that there were people that cared, not about the poetry, or popularity, but about me. My father and two brothers resent me, I know they do. I look like my mother, and the more time that passes, the more apparent it becomes to them," she whispered as she pulled the picture from her pocket and extended it to him. "Here take a look."

Father took the picture and looked down at it. After a few moments, he nodded as though he understood. "I understand your feelings, Missy, but right now I cannot allow you to move below," he said softly once he handed the picture back to her.

"Why not?" she asked looking up.

"Because I think you need to try every possible option to stay above," he began.

"Please."

"I'll tell you what, why don't we go and see your father and maybe I can help by mediating between you," he suggested. "Perhaps by talking to him, you and he can resolve these problems."

"You probably don't believe me, but he won't listen," she said.

He looked at her. "You're stubbornness is astounding, Missy. You're trying to be strong, and I understand why, but the fact is, you can only be so strong, and perhaps your father should be able to look at you and see that there exists a person beyond simply a photograph."

"Travis was the only person I could count on in my family to help me deal with everything. Now he's gone and I feel lost and alone. It's always been this way, Father, ever since my mother died."

"We'll go see them and I'll see what I can do for you," he said softly. "If the problems cannot be resolved, then I will consider allowing you to come to us, but you have to try, Missy, you can't give up before you speak to him. OK?"

She nodded, "I'll do my best."

Father stood up and extended his hand to her. "I know you will."


	22. Part 3, Chapter 4

_a/n: This is slowly winding down, another chapter to go and then this story is done. Finally. _

_Thanks to all of you reading who stuck with me throughout this little saga. At the close of this story, there will be more to come with Missy, Vincent and others. I have a few surprises up my sleeve. _

_Enjoy, and reviews are love! _

**

* * *

Part 3**

**Chapter 4**

After going and explaining to Father what had happened with Missy, Catherine arrived at the dry-cleaning business that belonged to Missy's father. She opened the door and went inside. A middle-aged man was standing at the counter, a newspaper on the counter before him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Parks?"

"Yeah," he looked up and his steel gray eyes met those of Catherine.

"My name is Catherine Chandler, I'm with the D.A.'s office."

"Yeah, so what can I do for you Ms. Chandler?" he asked.

"I'm here about your daughter Missy," she began.

"She ain't here, she should be in school," he said not even looking up from the newspaper.

"No, she's not at school, she called me this morning," Catherine began, but when the man at the counter seemed not to divert his attention from the newspaper in front of him, she grew impatient. "Mr. Parks, if you don't mind, could you please put the newspaper aside and talk to me about what has been happening regarding the reporters that had been here to find Missy?" she asked, her voice somewhat curt.

"Listen lady, I have a business to run, and my daughter has created enough trouble with that stupid book of hers to last us for years," he began. "You cannot even begin to imagine how much money we have lost here because of this."

"Mr. Parks, I would think that as a parent, you would support your daughter's talent, not blame her for the negative press she has received because of the book," Catherine began. "I am here to find out what these reporters have done to upset your family. I understand that you resent the fact that they were here, but that should not reflect on your attitude towards your daughter or her success. Her talent is apparent, and that should be recognized by your family, not your opinion about the publicity of her book."

"You can believe what you want," he said, "right now, I could care less about her, the book or what she does. Now, if you have something that needs cleaning, you can drop it off, otherwise, I would appreciate it if you would just leave."

Catherine sighed deeply and looked at him, "Do you know that Missy spent her entire spring vacation with me?"

"No," he said. "My oldest son had been taking care of her because I don't have the time to deal with any more kids. Now that he's gone, I will probably have to send her to live with her aunt in Albany."

"You would send her away, just like that? She's your daughter for crying out loud," Catherine shook her head.

"I don't have time for a speech on morality," he said curtly.

"It's truly amazing that a wonderful girl like Missy could have such an unsympathetic father. If you don't want her, then I can think of a few people here who would give her the love she deserves."

"Get out or I'll call the cops and have you thrown out," he said gruffly.

Catherine turned to leave but as she did, she could see that Missy and Father had entered the shop together. She looked at Father and shook her head slightly. "It's hopeless," she whispered as Missy boldly approached the counter.

"Daddy?"

Parks looked up and his eyes widened when he saw his daughter standing in front of the counter boldly looking at him.

In the back of the room near the door, Catherine looked at Father. "What did you tell her?"

"She has to try," Father whispered watching Missy's movements.

"There's no way, he won't listen," Catherine said, "I've already tried."

Father said nothing, he simply watched.

"What are you doing here?" Parks demanded looking at his daughter. "You should be in school. I don't have time for this."

She said nothing, pulled the snapshot from her pocket, placed it on the counter, and pushed it across it so that he could see it.

"Where the hell did you get this?" he demanded once he had looked down at the photo.

"You never have time for me," she whispered. "I mean, what difference does it make where I got the picture? When you look at me, you see her, don't you?"

He reached down and took the photo and tore it in half. Missy stood watching, her eyes filling with tears as she watched him throw the two pieces across the counter. They skidded across the top and drifted to the floor. "Now, I want you to get your tail back to school, and I'll try to forget that you have been so disrespectful."

"I had believed once that if I were successful that you would stop working so hard and become my father again. When I found that picture, I realized that that would never happen, that you would still stay here in this stupid shop not ever to see me or talk to me. You may not believe me, but I had hoped the book would help bring us together." She shook her head as she looked down at the floor and could see the two halves of her mother's picture resting against the cold linoleum.

"I said you need to go," he raised one of his hands as though he was going to slap her, but when she didn't even back up, he lowered it once again.

"You may be able to rip her photo to shreds, and live in denial, but you cannot rip me up. I'm a person, and I'm your daughter. If you cannot accept and love me, then I will leave, so you can at least heal the wounds you still carry in your heart."

Parks looked up at her once again, but after a few moments, he simply grunted and returned his focus to the newspaper that was in front of him.

Missy could feel the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. "I know you may not want to hear this, but all the money from my book, I have given to Travis, because he has taken care of me. I know that all the things he did for me did not come from you, they came from him, and I'm glad that he left, even if it hurts me more than your rejection does. At least now, he can make something of his life that he wants rather than something that he feels he has to do."

"I've heard just about enough from you, now get out, and take your worthless friends with you," he shouted.

Missy backed away from counter, fear in her eyes at hearing her father's voice rising in intensity and anger. "My mother would have never treated me this way," she said softly. "She would have loved me for who I am, and would have tried to make our family happy and complete."

"Get out of here, I don't want to see you again," he shouted. "Go live with your brother."

From his vantage point in the back of the shop, Father shook his head sadly. He looked at Catherine and sighed deeply; perhaps this had been a mistake, he thought as he watched Missy backing away from the counter. She had not yet turned around, but when she did, the look in her eyes were of the most intense anguish that anyone could suffer He could see the shame hidden in her eyes, and after a moment, she closed her eyes, her head constantly down. In her humiliation, she was unable to even hold his gaze.

He walked slowly over to where she was standing and rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked up for a split second as Father spoke. "Come, my dear, we're going home."

Missy stood unable to move, after a few seconds, she slowly got down on her knees and retrieved the two halves of the photo. Once she had found them and was holding them in her hand, she slipped them inside her pocket and remained on her knees staring down at the floor. "It's hopeless," she mumbled. "Dear God," she began to pray softly, "please, help me."

It was obvious to both Catherine and Father that the shock of her father's words were still with Missy, but now they would both be with her, and they were not going to leave her alone, not ever. Together, they helped her to her feet and led her, without any words, outside.

Once on the street, Missy began to sob uncontrollably. "I wanted him to love me," she cried. "I wanted him to realize that I need him," she looked at Father helplessly, "I did, Father I really did."

"We know you did, Missy," Father said softly. "We know."

"He's obviously not deserving of your love," Catherine said gently. "I feel sorry for him. He's missing out on so much."

"What's going to happen to me now?" Missy asked, her face by this time was streaked with tears and she looked from one to the other. "I can't go live with Travis."

Father smiled gently at her, "I know, but you don't need to worry, Missy, we won't leave you alone. I meant just what I said in the shop, we're going to go home."

"You mean?"

He nodded without saying a word.

"What about Mike?" Missy asked softly.

Father smiled gently, "Catherine, I think that's your department."

"I'll tell him," she said gently.

Missy looked down at the pavement, "I guess I always knew my father would toss me aside, but I wanted to believe something else. I wanted to think that I was special."

"Now you cannot believe anything else about your father," Father said gently. "But you must never believe that you are not special, because you are. We want what's best for you, and I know you will now be able to find true happiness, because you won't be forced to live in loneliness any longer."

She nodded and threw her arms around him, the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you, too" he said gently as he held her. "Come, we'll go pick up your things, and then you will leave that place that has brought you so much pain and sadness."

* * *

Catherine was waiting outside of the school when Mike came out some hours later. When he finally did emerge, she got out of her car and approached him. Smiling weakly, she spoke. "Hi Mike." 

"Hey, Cathy," he said approaching. "I'm ready to go."

"We're not going, I have just come from there," she sighed deeply. "There's something I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Missy is leaving, Mike, for good, she won't be back," she said softly.

"I don't understand," he said softly.

"Come on, I'll explain everything, but not here," she said.

Mike nodded and followed her to the car. Once they had gotten in, he looked at her. "What happened?"

"Did Missy tell you about what has been happening with her family?" Catherine asked.

"She and I talked a little bit about it this morning, and she told me that her brother was moving out," Mike said.

"Mike, Missy's brother, Travis, has been taking care of her because her father wants nothing to do with her. When I went to ask him about what had happened with the reporters, he said some pretty rotten things about his daughter. If that wasn't enough, one of her friends, who up to now has been a secret, came into the shop with her to speak to him," she paused. "After she bravely tried to talk to him, he kicked her out. She's devastated right now. After we left, she returned to the apartment where she had lived with her father and brothers, packed her belongings, and is presently moving out."

"Where is she now?" He asked.

"I can't tell you, I can only tell you that she's safe, and the people she is with will love her and take care of her in a way that her family has failed," Catherine said softly.

"Please tell me. For the last two months I have been in the dark about everything with her. I have done for her what I could even though I did not know why I was doing it. The truth is, I care for her, Cathy," he said softly and she could see the tears in his eyes. "If there exists a reason for me to keep silent, then I can. I know I may just be a country bumpkin to you city folks, but I do know how to keep a secret. Please, take me to her, if for no other reason, but so that I can at least have the chance to say good-bye."

She looked into the eyes of the young man in the passenger side of the car. "Vincent always said I should follow my heart," she mused.

"Who's Vincent?"

"A friend of mine, and a very dear friend to Missy," she said smiling and after a few moments had passed, she started the car. "Alright, I'll take you to her."

"Thank you," he whispered.


	23. Part 3, Chapter 5

_a/n: If you have made it this far in this story, then my congratulations to you! This is the final chapter of this story, but not of Missy's adventures. I have a few other stories with her that I would be happy to post after a few days rest.  
_

_My sincerest thanks go out to Onlyaman who really stuck with me throughout the posting of this particular story. Your comments and encouragement really is what kept this project going. Now that it is at an end, I hope that it was worth it._

_Some of the aspects of the story were unrealistic for the fandom, but seeing as the story was written well over five years ago, I hope that you'll grant me a few creative liberties (specifically with Catherine's role as a lawyer). I did write this in absolute appreciation of the Beauty and the Beast universe, and as always, the general disclaimers apply. This was not written with any intention of infringing on the copyrights held by the creators, producers, actors, etc. of this show. If anything, I hope that you enjoyed reading it._

_Reviews are love.

* * *

_

**Part 3**

**Chapter 5**

"Is she still crying?" Vincent asked once Father had brought Missy back to the chamber she had used during the week she had spent below.

"She hasn't stopped since we left her father's apartment earlier today," Father said softly. "I should not have pushed her to confront this, but somehow deep inside, I thought perhaps she had exaggerated this situation because of her emotions. I remember when we had gone into the store, and how she had confronted everything that she had endured. I admired her courage, but I do not know how she managed to remain as composed about this as she did. She did not cry until after we had left the shop."

"She's very strong, Father," Vincent offered. "I believe, although it was painful for her, you did do the right thing. It may hurt her now to know the truth, but at least now she knows, and can begin to heal."

"Have the Helpers brought her belongings down?" Father asked.

"Not yet, but they should be here soon," Vincent said softly. "I'm going to go to her, she needs to know that there are people who love her."

Father nodded.

Making his way back through the tunnels, Vincent walked towards Missy's chamber. When he reached the small chamber, he walked in. She was lying on the bed her face pressed against the pillow, her breathing heavy from the overwhelming grief she carried inside.

He came over to the bed and sat down next to her. He brushed his hand over her head, feeling the soft hair, which concealed her face.

"Missy," he said softly causing her to raise her head.

When she eventually turned over and made eye contact with him, he placed the palms of his hands gently against either side of her face and used his fingertips to carefully brush the tears away trying to keep from scratching her with his claws. When she tried to look away, he tenderly held her face firmly forcing her to look at him. The tears continued to fall from her eyes, dampening the fur that covered his hands. "I wanted it more than anything else in the world, Vincent," she wept.

"I know you did," he said softly. "But you must never give up wishing or hoping for a better life."

She closed her eyes. "But, what good does it do? You make a wish and then it shatters right before your eyes."

"Missy, it does a lot of good to carry the hope inside and not to admit defeat. I know that one of your wishes has now come true. You wanted to stay here, and know the feeling of having a family," he said gently. "Now, today, this has become your home."

"But, I wanted to have a father who would love me as I am, and now I have nothing," she said softly.

"You have far more than you believe, Missy. You are speaking through the pain you feel, not through the logic that has guided you," he said gently. "You said once that I was your father figure, and even implied as much when we spoke a week ago. Do you remember this?"

She nodded, "but you said that you weren't."

He lowered his hands and wrapped her in his embrace. "I know what I said then, but now let me give you the comfort you need, and the strength you lack. I will always be there for you when you need me, you must trust in that, and remember that you are far more special than you realize."

She nodded numbly and wrapped her arms around him. As he held her, she began to cry once again, this time the grief she carried was shared and she was left feeling the consolation, the same that had been denied her for so many years.

* * *

Catherine and Mike arrived at the tunnel entrance in Central Park. "What are we doing here?" Mike asked after Catherine started walking towards the large drainpipe. "I thought you were taking me to see Missy." 

"I am, just follow me," she replied and walked slowly into the large opening.

"What kind of place is this anyway?" Mike asked.

"It's a sanctuary," Catherine said softly as she reached the master pipe and began to tap on it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm sending a message," she said.

"I don't understand..." he began, but the words seemed to die on his lips when the door opened and he was left looking into the wide eyes of Mouse.

Catherine turned around. "Don't worry Mouse, he's with me. Can you take us to Father's chamber?"

Mouse nodded and made way so Mike and Catherine could enter the passage. As they walked down the staircase and through the tunnel in the direction of Father's chamber, Mike shook his head in disbelief. What kind of place was this anyway, he asked himself.

Before reaching Father's chamber, Catherine turned and faced him. "Mike, you must swear to me that you keep what you see in this place to yourself," Catherine said softly. "It's very important."

"Is this the same secret that Missy had promised to keep?"

"Yes," Catherine nodded as they began to walk once again. When they eventually reached Father's chamber, Catherine rushed inside; Mike was following closely behind.

"Father," she spoke causing him to look up and see a stranger standing in his chamber. His friendly smile melted away and he looked at her somewhat angrily.

"Catherine, I hope you have an explanation for this," he said standing up.

Before Catherine could even begin to say anything, Mike stepped forward and walked over to Father offering his hand. "Sir, my name is Mike Ross, I'm Missy's friend. I know I'm probably not welcome here, but where I come from, a man honors those who are his friends, and if that honor means keeping my mouth shut, than so be it, but I at least should have the right to say good-bye to her."

"You're Mike?" Father asked.

"Yes, Sir," he said.

"Missy has spoken fondly of you," he said, the sternness in his voice fading slightly.

"Thank you, Mr. uhh," Mike smiled somewhat embarrassed when he realized that he didn't know the surname of the man addressing him.

"Just call me Father," came the reply.

"Father?" he looked at Catherine who simply nodded. After a minute, any discomfort he might have had seemed to dissolve. "OK, so what is this place anyway? It's uhnice."

Catherine tried to stifle a giggle and she looked for any disbelief that might possibly cross Father's face. "Father, you probably have never met someone from Texas before."

Mike smiled slightly shrugging his shoulders.

"This place, Mike, is our home," Father said simply noticing Mike's uneasiness and deciding it best to answer the question he had raised.

Mike looked at Father, "whatever you say," he offered as he looked around the chamber. "I guess I should just tell you that I'm that you have taken Missy into your home. I wondered for a long time, probably since we met what kind of secrets she had been harborin', but not because I want to expose anything about her or her friends, but because I care for her. And I wanted her to trust me."

"Mike, in knowing of this place, not only has Missy inadvertently put her trust in you, but we all have," Catherine said gently.

"I understand," he replied and looked at Father. "I won't tell anyone about you or this place, but can I at least see her?"

"Yes, she's with Vincent now," Father said. "I will take you to her."

"Thank you," Mike said and followed Father out of the chamber. As they walked towards Missy's chamber, Mike turned to Father. "I can see why she cares for you so much, you're nothin' like her daddy."

"What do you mean?" Father asked.

"I overheard Mr. Parks razzin' about her regardin' her book and all that publicity. My folks are pretty nice people, but that guy is about as nice as an angry wasp," Mike said shaking his head. "Missy was an outcast in school, the kids were mean to her, they treated her like trash, but it was nothin' compared to what her daddy said about her, and how nasty her brothers were to her."

"I don't believe Travis was," Father said. "From what I understand, he really seems to care for her."

"Yeah, I know, I met him once, he was pretty cool, but those other two varmints were pretty spiteful. If I treated my younger brother the way those two treated her, my folks would be so mad at me, I wouldn't be able to look 'em in the eye," he paused and looked at Father somewhat shyly, "You ain't gonna do her that way, are you?"

"No," Father said. "I can assure you of that."

Mike released the breath he had been holding. "Then I guess she's in the right place then, 'cause you seem like a nice guy, and I always knew she deserved better than what she had."

"Thank you, Mike," Father said as they continued to walk towards the chamber. "You're not afraid here, are you?"

"No, should I be?" he asked.

"Of course not," Father answered as they reached the chamber. Outside, he could still hear Missy crying, but before Father could say anything further, he ran inside calling her name. "Missy, you in there?"

Vincent turned around when he heard Mike's voice emerging through the room and the boy entered.

Upon seeing Vincent, Mike stopped short and as he looked and saw that Missy was wrapped securely in Vincent's arms, any words he could have said, died on his lips.

Missy turned her head and could see him standing there, "Mike, what are you doing here?" her voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"I asked Cathy to bring me to see you," he said.

Vincent released his hold on Missy and looked away from Mike's gaze, trying to hide his face from the young boy now standing in Missy's chamber.

Mike smiled and turned to face Vincent. "It's nice to finally meet you and I must say, that's one cool haircut, Dude, you could pass for one of the cast members in 'Cats'."

Although she was still very sad, Missy found the amusement in Mike's words and began to smile, but when she noticed that Vincent had whipped his head around and was now looking at Mike as though he had flipped a gasket. In spite of herself, she began to laugh softly and reached out and touched Vincent's arm. "Don't mind him, he's just trying to act like a macho." She looked at Mike. "You should know to never judge another person on their appearance."

Mike smiled impishly and looked at Vincent, this time, somewhat embarrassed, "sorry," he mumbled running his hand through his hair.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mike," Vincent said softly.

"Yeah," the boy answered as Vincent stood up and walked out of the chamber leaving the two of them alone. "So he and this weird place were your big secrets, huh?" He asked once they were alone.

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Your," he paused. "Aslan?"

Missy nodded, "yeah. He's a very special person, and like a father to me."

He reached out and took her hand. "I won't tell anyone about him. He seems to really care for you."

"He does, Mike. Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve to have such a friend as him."

"I think you do," Mike said. "Anyway, I just wanted to come and say good-bye to you."

She hugged him, "Mike, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I always knew that I could trust you, but I had promised."

"It's OK, I understand why you couldn't," he said softly and looked around the interior of her chamber. "They really have become your family then, haven't they?"

Missy nodded, "I never belonged above. You were the truest friend I could have asked for there, but to the rest of them; I will always be 'Missy the Sissy'. Even though the book was something that happened that made me suddenly famous, deep down inside, I would always remember that I was an outcast."

"You weren't, Missy," he said softly.

"In your eyes, I wasn't, but to everyone else, I was, even to my father and brothers. When the fame fades away, I will still be me. Even if I were to stay, my dignity will always remind me that I was considered a nobody there. I won't ever forget that they had hurt me, and tried to rob me of my self-respect or that before the book, my poetry had been called garbage and I was not accepted." She looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "In this place, Mike, I am loved for the person I am, and the book doesn't matter as much as I do."

"But that book was your dream," he objected.

"I know it was, but now I think sometimes I wanted it for the wrong reasons. I wanted my father to love and accept me and I thought he would if I were to become successful. Now I know that I don't have to have it to feel successful, I need only to know that there are people who care for me, and it's the people here who have shown me this."

Mike nodded, "I care for you."

"I know you do, and I care for you. But after I spent spring break here, I learned from Father and Vincent that I was special and that I could make a difference. Not because of the book, but just from being myself. As the time went by, I became more attached to life here, and I began to make friends with the other kids here, like Jamie, who gave me this shirt," She smiled as she continued to speak. "I thank you for coming to see me, and for caring for me during the most difficult time of my life. You have helped me a great deal by being my friend and standing by me regardless of what the others had said."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Mike said softly.

"I won't be returning above, I'm going to stay here where I belong," as she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked at him. "I have dreamed of being somewhere in a place like this ever since my mother died, and now I have finally found that place. I know I cannot always come to see you, but that doesn't mean that I will forget."

Mike nodded, "then be happy, Missy. I won't ever betray your trust in me." He leaned over and kissed her gently.

She wrapped her arms around him, "Keep the Chronicles of Narnia, Mike," she said once the kiss ended. "Remember me, and never forget the difference you have made to me."

Mike nodded, "if you ever need me..."

"...I'll send you a message," she said softly. "Somehow, I will find a way."

Mike nodded and walked slowly out of the chamber. He wiped his hand over his eyes and could feel the tears falling from them. Missy remained in the chamber watching his retreating back. She sat back down on the bed and looked around her new home as he disappeared in the tunnel.

Outside the chamber, Mike wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes as Vincent approached where he was standing. "Mike, are you alright?"

He nodded, "my world just came to an end."

Vincent rested his hand on the shoulder of the young man. "She will not forget you, of that I am certain."

Mike glanced up and looked at Vincent, "maybe," he looked around the tunnel where he was standing. After some moments of silence passed between then, he found his voice. "Vincent, I have a feeling that you now think I'm the world's biggest moron."

"Why do you say that, because you are no longer acting like a macho?" Vincent asked.

"Yeah, that stupid comment I made," he said. "It was nothing personal."

"It's alright, actually, it was a nice change, usually people are afraid," Vincent smiled slightly.

"I don't see how, you're very kind. When I came into her room just now, I saw you holding her. It was almost like you were her daddy, taking care of her, and lookin' out for her, that you would've given everything for her, to keep her from being hurt," Mike said softly. "I couldn't be afraid of someone like that."

"Thank you," Vincent said softly. "If you ever wish to visit her, you know you always can."

"No," he shook his head. "This is her world now, I'm not really a part of it. I like the sunshine too much, and lots of open space," he looked at Vincent. "I know I'm just a kid, and that I have a lot to learn, but in the last three months, I've learned more from Missy about courage, than I could even begin to teach her, and deep inside, I feel myself a failure because I could not protect her."

"Sometimes, you are better able to protect her than I," Vincent said softly. "Do not ever believe that you failed Missy or that she doesn't have enough love in her heart for you, because she does, and she will always remember. She speaks of you very positively, Mike, and she does know what you have done for her."

Mike shrugged his shoulders, but after a few moments, he turned to Vincent. "Please, take care of her. Make sure she'll be OK. I mean, I know why she kept you a secret from me, and as much as it pains me to think that I will walk into school each day and not see her, I will try to be happy that she doesn't have to search any more to find her family."

"Everyone needs to have a place where they belong, and here she will be safe, and I will make sure no one else can harm her," Vincent said gently.

Mike nodded and extended his hand towards Vincent.

Once they had shook hands, Mike walked slowly away and wound his way back through the tunnels. When he finally found Mouse, he was led out the way he had come in.

Vincent stood for some moments watching as Mike left. He returned some moments to Missy's chamber. "Are you OK?" he asked as he came inside.

She looked up from where she was sitting on the bed, "I'm still a little sad."

"You're going to miss Mike, aren't you?"

She nodded, "yeah, I think so."

"You'll get to see him again, I'm certain of that," he said gently.

"I know, but I was just thinking about what happened earlier with my father, wondering if I deserved his hate," she said softly.

"Whatever happened, Missy, you must never believe that you deserved that. Now, tell me what exactly happened," he said gently.

"Father had told me that if I wanted to come here to live that I would have to face my father," she began. "I knew deep down inside that I wanted to come here without having to do it, without talking to my father or trying to understand what had happened. I was so scared, but when we got there, the first thing I noticed was that my father didn't want to talk to me, and I tried really hard to make him just look at me, and see me, not this kid who wrote poetry, or dreamed of acceptance, but I wanted him to see that I was frightened and I needed him. You know, actually trying to talk to him was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life."

"You were very brave to have done this, many people would have run away from the situation," Vincent began.

"I wasn't all that brave, there was something else that possessed me to try. Maybe it was my own fear or maybe it was just something Father had said to me. I don't really know," she looked down and shook her head.

"It had nothing to do with me, it was your own courage, Missy. What you did today was very brave," Father's voice emerged, and she looked up to see him coming slowly inside followed by Catherine.

"I only wanted to make you proud of me," she said softly looking at Father. "I wanted you to know that I wasn't overreacting about what had been going on, and that I had been telling the truth." She could feel the tears in her eyes and she wiped them stubbornly away.

"You didn't just do it for me, Missy," Father said gently. "You did it for you, you needed to hear the truth, not just possess the ability to sense it."

Missy shrugged her shoulders and looked at Vincent who nodded.

"How do you feel now that you know?" Catherine asked.

"It hurts," she said, her voice beginning to crack. "It feels like my heart is breaking into thousands of tiny pieces."

"And we are here to help make sure those wounds eventually heal," Vincent said gently.

"I wanted to have the feeling of family, but I never thought I would find it here. I had thought I could recreate those feelings above. I had hoped that my father would be able accept me," she looked down, "but I failed."

"You didn't fail, Missy, your father and brothers did, but not you. You were the one who was trying to hold the family together," Catherine said. "Your father was the one that allowed it to be torn apart, but not you. Besides, you have to admit, that's a pretty tall order for a twelve-year-old."

"What's going to happen now?" she asked.

"You're going to heal, and we're going be here to help you do it," Father said gently.

As she looked around the chamber, she smiled weakly at her newfound family. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "You said once that friends were more important than many relatives."

Father nodded, "and what have you discovered?"

"That you were right," Missy said softly. "Thank you for being there for me today. I couldn't have gone in there and faced this without your support."

Father smiled weakly. "I wish for you that it had been a happier occasion, Missy."

Missy nodded and looked down at the floor. "When my father had finished yelling at me, I had become afraid."

"Why? Because you feared that he might have tried to hurt you?" Catherine asked.

"He had never tried to do anything like that before," she began, "but I was more afraid that you would see some sort of truth in his words."

"There was no truth in his words," Catherine said shaking her head. "All that existed there was bitterness and selfishness, but the humanity in him did not exist."

Father nodded.

"Thank you for bringing Mike to see me," Missy offered.

"I couldn't have done otherwise," Catherine said.

She looked at Father, "You're not angry about him coming, are you?"

"I was initially concerned, but I think now I understand," he said softly.

"I mean, I know deep inside that he will keep our secret," she said confidently.

Vincent smiled, "I'm sure he will."

Missy looked around the chamber, which was now her home. "I never thought I would find a place where I belong."

"Why is that?" Catherine asked.

"I don't know, I suppose because I always tried so hard."

"Well, I just noticed something," Vincent began, "You just said 'our secret', so I believe it is safe to assume that you know now that this is your home and that you will always belong here with us."

"Then you were right, Vincent, my greatest wish did come true." She walked over to him and hugged him tightly, "I've finally found a home and a family."

-----

The End


End file.
